


In their Sun

by Wizardheart83 (Plant_Murderer)



Series: Love That Grows [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Loss, POC Harry Potter, that should be enough, the fact that you're alive is a miracle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-04-16 08:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14160633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plant_Murderer/pseuds/Wizardheart83
Summary: Harry is in some ways a different Boy-Who-Lived than he might otherwise have been. Shaped by a childhood spent with his maternal grandparents, his aunt, and his father's last free, living friend, and marked by love and loss as much as by his famed scar, how could he not be? Now it's time for him to walk into the wizarding world, for the first time, as the son of his parents, the miracle of the night that took them, and as a person with a life and soul of his own .  Join Harry as he enters Hogwarts and journeys through his first years there, continuing from the Au with Harry's grandparents (4th in series)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everone, We're starting on the next phase of this series. My plan is for this story to get us through the first 4-ish years at Hogwarts, exploring how the changes in Harry's background and circumstances will effect the world around him. Life is kind of nuts but I promise that if it takes a while between updates, the next chapter is coming it's just that I'm posting this as I write it. 
> 
> If you're new to this series, I suggest starting from the begining because this is going to be a bit confusing otherwise. The first story is Flowers for Harry.

At around seven in the morning on July 27, 1991, the house at Number 4 Privet Drive looked almost like every other house on the street. It was no taller than other or wider than numbers three, five, or seven. It was, perhaps, a little brighter. Petunia's award-winning back garden and window boxes brought cheery pops of color to the staid brick home. Still, the driveway was swept, and the latticed windows were identical to those on every house beside and around it. If occasionally, in the nearly three years since the Potter boy had come to stay, there were odd lights in the windows, or sounds no-one could explain, well... the poor boy had been through a lot and surely Vernon and Petunia were doing their best. There was no sense in causing a fuss when no-one was ever hurt by any of it. The neighbors shrugged their shoulders and moved on. The Dursleys were a little odd at times, but by and large they got on fine. They and the house were perfectly ordinary, at a glance. 

It would take a much closer look than anyone would have bothered with to see the ways in which the house and family at number four were very different from their neighbors indeed. 

On the Saturday morning in question, inside the house, Petunia Dursley was sitting at the kitchen table. She was looking through the contents of a thick tan folder that contained, among other things, definitive proof of that difference. 

Petunia took the documents in the folder and spread them out; taking them in with an intensity that had increased with each passing day since March of that year.  All of them, from the "copy" of the birth certificate that she'd helped her parents forge, to guardianship and transfer of guardianship papers, and beyond, constituted the proof of Harry Potter's life in the muggle world.  

 Petunia brushed fingers over them and thought of the lies they'd told to allow a baby given to them in a basket with a blanket and a letter, but without such mundane things as immunization records or even a certificate of live birth, to start school and to go to the doctor. There were things they hadn't known, but they'd pushed through and Harry seemed no worse for their fumbling.  Ten years later it didn't seem to matter whether or not he'd ever had colic or how long Harry had been on solid foods before his first known doctor visit. 

Harry's school reports were in the folder too, and the papers for his change in schools. Every note home, copies of every certificate- Petunia had been diligent in her documentation of Harry's young life. The folder even extended to the future. There were one or two brochures from the boarding school they'd tell the neighbors that Harry was going to. 

Petunia remembered the conversation she'd had with Janet Polkiss, Dudley's  friend Piers's mum at the grocery. 

"He has his heart set on going to the school where his mum went," she'd said, explaining why Harry wouldn't be at Smeltings with Dudley and Piers. "Vernon's always wanted  Smeltings for Dudley but we didn’t want to deny Harry the chance to feel close to his mother.” 

Janet had smiled sympathetically and they’d carried on, brainstorming ways of sending their boys love and support while they were off at school. 

Petunia frowned down at the brochures and wished briefly that Harry was actually going to just a regular school. It would be easier, in a lot of ways. 

Methodically she put the papers back into the folder, leaving out the homeschooling information that she’d picked up from a school a town over and reviewed the information Harry was going to be studying this week. 

Ten or eleven years old was too young to decide one’s future, in Petunia’s considered opinion. Too young to choose a life and a world. Harry would have a foot in each world until he was older. He’d have a proper home and future, whatever he chose. 

Petunia glanced up at the picture of her mother and father in a standing frame on the counter, next to one of the last still photos ever taken of her sister. She glanced to the window, wondering if today the day would be when the owl with Harry’s school acceptance would come.  

Nothing there, not yet. She scanned the papers with her eyes a final time and put them in the folder.  Beneath them on the table was a moving photograph of Harry from a recent outing with Remus, she smiled at the faces the boy was making before slipping it in underneath some other documents. Then she took the great thing up and walked back to her room to put it away in the safe there, next to Dudley’s file. 

On the way , she knocked on Dudley’s bedroom door and then on Harry’s. 

“Time to get up boys. You can help with breakfast and do some studying before Remus gets here,” she called. 

She smiled at the answering grumbles and went on. 

* * *

 

Harry woke to the sound of his aunt’s voice. He gave a token grumble but he was smiling as he got out of bed. It was going to be a good day. 

At ten-nearly-eleven years old, Harry potter was short for his age. His skin was dark, like his father's in the pictures that Remus had given him, and he also had his father's spectacularly untidy hair.  His eyes were shaped the same as well, but their color was different. They were a luminous green, shining out from behind round framed glasses that were never as clean as they ought to be.  _Grandmum's_ _eyes,_ he thought as he glanced into the full-length mirror on the back of his door,  _and Mum's._

He was the last person alive with those eyes; he had been for over a year. The weight of his grandparents' deaths was a variable one. They'd done well, preparing Harry to leave them, but it didn't change the fact that the people who'd raised him were beyond his reach, much as his parents had always been. Harry turned away from the mirror, brushing a hand over the scar on his forhead and into his hair.

 He'd received the scar on the night that his parents had been killed, on Halloween a decade before by a dark wizard in a secret war, or in a car accident, depending on who was asking. It was cool, shaped like a lightning bolt. He was distantly aware that the scar was a Big Deal to some people, that it it'd been the first thing Remus had covered up when he'd first altered Harry's appearance before they'd gone into the wizarding world, but he wasn't altogether certian that he understood the fuss.  It wasn't particularly dramatic, beyond the shape. It simply existed. Harry didn't mind it being there, had never asked anyone to help him remove it with magic, but he couldn't wholly separate it from all that it symbolized. It was one of countless ways that Harry wore his losses on his face.

Harry pulled out clothes for the day, speeding up as if he could outpace the resigned sadness that came with the memory that his grandparents had passed. 

"No one is really gone," he murmured, remembering the points his grandparents had stressed most in the end, and conversations with Remus and Aunt Pet over the years. "Everyone comes home. I know where to find them, all of them."

Harry showered, dressed and went downstairs, passing a sleepy Dudley who was rubbing at his eyes in the doorway of his own bedroom. Harry waved as he passed, getting a half smile and a turn of Dudley's raised hand in response. 

In the kitchen, Harry unwrapped the soda bread that his aunt had made the day before. It was a recipe from his grandfather's family, and Rose Evans had taken to it, making it not infrequently over the years. Harry pulled off a wedge from the once circular loaf and was carefully cutting it for toast when his uncle came downstairs. 

"There's a good lad," Uncle Vernon greeted, sitting down at the table. Harry filled the kettle and put it on the stove for tea. It was warm, he noticed, even before he set it on the hob. He found himself turning to look at the table. His aunt had been up early again, and Harry searched for some remnant of her activities.  There was nothing there, except for the piece of toast that his uncle had heated for him. Harry sat down covered it in marmalade.  

"Is your, er... friend coming to get you today?" Uncle Vernon asked. He was comfortable enough with having Harry around, but other wizards still made him a bit nervous.  Harry thought it was odd, but Aunt Pet had been further into the wizarding world, and she still refused to go within a couple of kilometers of the Leaky Cauldron unless Remus was with them.  Harry had faint notions that Aunt Petunia had given his uncle a rather poor impression of the wizarding world when she'd told him about it, but he'd never thought to ask his grandparents and his aunt wouldn't say.  

"Yes, Sir, Remus is coming after breakfast and I'll be back just after dinner, in time to help with the dishes. " Harry replied. "I think we're going to visit his da, and maybe get ice-cream at Fortescue's since my birthday is coming up." 

"You'll stay with Remus the whole time," Uncle Vernon reminded him, stern but not unkind at all. 

"Yes, Sir. Are you and Dudley going golfing again?" Harry asked. 

The conversation continued, expanding as Petunia walked Dudley in.  Dudley took a piece of toast happily and made sure everyone had teacups and bags before bringing the heated kettle around carefully and refilling the sugar bowl so that they could each help themselves. Petunia served them porridge with cinnamon and raisins, and they ate. 

Harry was halfway through his bowl when Aunt Pet turned to him expectantly.  

"Harry, the post?" she asked. 

Harry jumped up. 

"I forgot, but I'll get it now," Harry said dashing off to do just that. Petunia and Vernon shared a smile at his eagerness, but Harry missed it in his haste. 

He did hear Dudley call out, "Slow down, not going anywhere, is it?"

 Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. Dudley was just weeks older than him, but he'd been acting like an old man since his birthday because he was, nominally, eleven while Harry was still only ten. It happened every year, the smug season that made harry wish that they were twins, but it was nearly over.  

Harry grabbed the handful of letters from the box by the door and was sorting them as he walked back to the kitchen. He made it to the middle of the hallway before a single letter stopped him nearly mid step. It was addressed to him. 

He'd had gotten letters before, of course. He still wrote back and forth with some of the friends he'd left back in Cokeworth when his aunt and grandparents had decided he'd be moving to Privet Drive. He got rude letters from the library sometimes too, though he did honestly try his best to return things on time. This letter was something different.

 Harry held his breath. He'd thought that it would come by owl, but no. It'd come in the post, like a bill or a newspaper. He hadn't thought it could come after he turned eleven, but that was days away and it was in his hand.

There was no return address or stamp. The paper felt heavy. It was parchment, he recognized, and the address had been written out with a quill. 

"Mr. H. Potter, Middle bedroom on the right, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey" 

On the back, a wax seal and a stamp confirmed it. The letter was from Hogwarts. 

Harry didn't have to open it to know what it would say. He'd had change enough in his life to know the fearsome, stunning tension of it. 

"Oy, Harry!  Inspecting the mail, are you?" Uncle Vernon called. 

Harry looked up, startled. 

"A bit," he said. 

Unable to hold it in any longer, he ran the last few steps into the kitchen. 

"It came," he announced from the doorway. He glanced at his cousin and his uncle before meeting his aunt's eyes. "From Hogwarts, addressed right to my bedroom door." 

The tension Harry felt snapped as he shared the news, bursting in his heart like fireworks. He smiled, looking down at the still unopened letter. He was going to Hogwarts. He was going into the wizarding world as Harry Potter for the first time in possibly his whole life. He could make friends his age who knew about magic, and get a wand, and-

The feel of hands on his shoulders made Harry look up. 

Aunt Petunia had moved to stand in front of him. 

Harry met her eyes and saw in them fear? Sadness? Love? Harry had seen them all reflected in those eyes before, and he knew them. This was more and different, but she smiled. She moved her hands from his shoulders to his face, and Harry fought the urge to squirm free from the intense, focused affection of the gesture. 

Touching her forehead to his briefly, she gave him a quick squeeze of a hug and stepped back. 

"Congratulations Harry. Mum and Da would be so proud, yours and mine both," Aunt Petunia said.  "Remus will be thrilled as well." 

"Thank you," Harry replied. Then he turned to his uncle and cousin. Uncle Vernon gave him a grin and beckoned him over to ruffle his already mussed hair. 

"There's a good lad," Harry's uncle said kindly. "Study hard. You'll need to know what you're doing with your...with that lot, potions and the like. You'll be ready for your GCSE too, Right?" 

"Yes, sir. I'll make sure to take my study books. Dudley, we can write to each other all year. You'll help if I need it?" Harry asked, turning to his cousin. 

Dudley was focusing intently on his empty plate. Big for his age, but healthy and strong, Dudley would rather be outside doing drills for rugby than doing anything like studying. Still Dudley gave a brief nod. Harry sat down beside him to finish breakfast. 

The unopened letter remained in his hand or in his lap until he got up to rinse his plate.

* * *

 

Remus John Lupin was smiling to himself as he walked down Privet Drive. He'd picked up some temp-work at Flourish and Blotts, in the weeks before. He'd be able to pay his rent, eat reasonably well, and still take Harry and his father out that afternoon. 

In his brief stint at the store, he'd been processing orders for the book lists from Hogwarts. The letters would be going out soon, he knew.  Lyall Lupin had reminded him of as much in his last missive.  

Remus sped up a little. His father was eager to see Harry, and Remus would be lying to say that he hadn't been looking forward to the day himself.   

It'd been just three years before, not long before Harry had left his grandparents' home, when he'd first brought Harry to meet his father.  Harry had been shy at first, and Lyall had been awestruck to have no less a figure than The-Boy-Who-Lived in his humble home, but they'd each moved past their initial reluctance rather quickly.  Harry had been pleased to be around another wizard, someone besides Remus with whom he could interact without needing to have his appearance or name changed.  Lyall seemed to enjoy the chance to spend timw with a more typical wizarding child. Harry would never need Lyall to cage him to protect the wider world. 

Harry still had to allow Remus to change his appearance if they went out together. Juniper "Juney" Howell had made his fair share of appearances in Diagon Alley and other wizarding places around England, but Harry seemed to be alright with that, as long as they stopped by Remus's childhood home along the way. 

Remus spotted Harry's window boxes as he approached the house. He also saw the boy sitting at the window, before he saw Remus and rushed to meet him at the door. The boy was wearing a red shirt  with blue design of some sort on the front and denims that looked to be hand offs from Dudley. They were patched, but not in bad shape. 

"'Lo Remus, how are you?" Harry asked, bouncing a little on his toes with poorly concealed excitement.

"Glad to see you, Harry. Where's your aunt?" 

"Here, Remus," Petunia said, stepping out of the kitchen. There was a quirk of a smile on her face that made Remus glance back down at Harry. 

"What's he done now?" Remus asked, not looking away from the eager little boy.

"Just his chores," Petunia replied. "Set up for breakfast..." 

"Did some revision while I waited for you..." Harry added, barely concealed glee in his voice. 

"Yes, but you did something else first, didn't you?" Petunia asked, sounding closer to playful than she ever had, possibly in her life. 

Remus looked at her, raising an eyebrow before turning back to Harry.

The boy was holding up a familiar looking letter, and Remus gave a great barking laugh and pulled him in for a hug. 

"I got the post from the box," Harry said into Remus's chest as he hugged back. "I haven't opened it yet. I waited for you."

Remus gave him a squeeze in thanks before pulling away. 

"Shall we open it before we leave?" Remus asked, looking over at Petunia. She shook her head. 

"Show me when you come back tonight," she instructed. "And pass my greetings to your father. Harry, don’t forget the meringues you made him.”

Harry darted down the hall, coming back a moment later with a round tin and his backpack. 

“I’ll see you both this evening,” Petunia said. 

Remus noted how her hand twitched at her side as Harry pulled his backpack more securely onto his shoulders. Not long ago she’d have helped him, but Harry didn’t need that anymore. Remus resisted the urge to do it in her place. 

Taking Harry’s hand, Remus raised his left hand in a wave before disapparating, leaving only the sharp crack of the spell behind them.

* * *

 

The quaint old two-story cottage where Lyall Lupin resided had always been perfectly well suited for him and his very specific needs. It had been, by turns, a retreat, a prison, and a shelter. Set on a large green plot of land with virtually no neighbors, it was always, above all things, private.

Lyall had his wand out and was going room to room, clearing dust and making sure everything was ready. As he went, he remembered. 

He'd bought the house shortly after Remus had been attacked. The wood and stone of it had seemed strong and warm, protective, and it was far enough away from everything that no one would hear the screams. Stepping out of  Remus's room, his eyes fell to a place on the stairs. There his Hope had sat through countless full moons, a book unread in her hands as their son’s body broke and remade itself inside the horrid cage that had been faithfully assembled and dismantled each month. He'd stood and watched each time, knowing that his own words, his own prejudices, had been the reason for his family's pain. Shaking off the thought he went on to dust in the guest room.

The room, now functionally Harry’s room, was next to Remus’s and across the hall from the one that Lyall and Hope had shared.  

The guest room had been vacant before Remus had started bringing Harry around. They'd never had a proper visitor, and mostly it'd served as a sewing room, or extra storage. Hope would have been pleased to see the room being used for something more. 

That Harry had been newly uprooted, and more insecure than he'd ever been, staring up at him with eyes all green and a touch too large for his face... well Hope would have wanted to adopt him on the spot.  Lyall knew that he had years left to have proper grandchildren, but Harry was essentially his first. 

If nothing else, the boy had gotten his son to come around more often  and Lyall liked him quite a bit for that. 

Lyall laughed to himself as he walked downstairs. To like The-Boy-Who-Lived for bringing his son around seemed too ridiculous and incredible to be believed but that was his life. 

That was also his son, he realized, hearing someone apparate  into the yard. Lyall glanced around the tidy room and, satisfied, went to the door to greet his small family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this, if you have comments or want to hit the kudos button, know that you have my sincere thanks and I look forward hearing from you. Hope you're having a brilliant day/night/week/weekend, and I promise I get less angsty than this chapter. Fluff is not a thing i'm abandoning just cause Harry's nearly eleven. (oh and I'm considering doing some one shots within this series at some point, if there's something you'd particularly want to see in one, let me know in the comments)


	2. Chapter 2

Harry leaned into Lyall's side as Remus hugged the older man in greeting.  

"'Lo," Harry said, stepping back when Remus did. He followed them into the sitting room before presenting Lyall with the cookie tin, "I made these to have with tea." 

"Very thoughtful of you," Lyall said, offering him a smile. Then he opened the tin, revealing the chocolate meringues inside. Some were rather lopsided and funny, but most looked quite good, and all of them had been drizzled lightly with chocolate.  

Harry grinned to see the delight on their faces. Love of chocolate was something the two had in common. He looked around the room as they each sampled a meringue.  

Remus's father was around the same age as Harry's grandparents, but their homes were very different.  There was a wireless in the living room rather than a television, and not much in the way of comforts. Sparsely and simply decorated, the few softening touches were age-worn and Aunt Petunia would have called them old-fashioned.  

Upon seeing the hard, wooden chairs, some bearing sun-faded and patched cushions, Harry sometimes wished that his grandmother had had time to teach him to sew or knit. The places where a throw or a shawl would have hung at his former home were empty in this one. Rose Evans would have made something, would have brought a missing but needed warmth to the place somehow. Her grandson had to make do with short bread rounds and meringues.  

Lyall Lupin, Harry thought (as he did every time he came to see the older man) was a person in desperate need of care. Fortunately, Harry had studied under the best in that area, and despite the gaps in his education, he did his absolute best. 

"Well, let's have it them," the aforementioned Lyall said, and Harry realized he'd missed a turn in the conversation. Taking a guess, he pulled out his Hogwarts letter and, when prompted, he popped the seal on the back and opened it.  

It was brief, just a couple of sentences, with his supply list enclosed. The headmaster's list of titles was almost as long as the letter itself, but Harry beamed all the same, and passed it to Remus.  

"Are we getting this stuff today?" Harry asked, looking over the list.  

Remus and Lyall looked at each other for a moment before Lyall gave a half shrug, and Remus seemed to come to a decision. 

"I need to make a floo call," he said, "but I should think that today is a fine day for shopping. Dad, why don't you and Harry take a walk while I get things sorted out."  

Lyall nodded, and held out a hand for Harry, who came to stand beside him. Lyall led the way out and the two walked towards the enchanted stone wall the marked the border of the property. The grass was tall and thick, but not a real obstacle. Harry smiled at the brush of it against his hands.  

"What house were you in at Hogwarts," Harry asked, realizing suddenly that he didn't actually know.  

"Slytherin, house of ambition," Lyall said.  

Harry's eyes widened and he spoke without thinking.  

"But you're nice!" He said. "I heard-"  

"I know what you've heard, kind boy," Lyall replied. "Likely much of what you heard is even true but take care. Being sorted doesn't change who you are, life does, and people can be nice for all sorts of reasons. No house at Hogwarts owns kindness, or any of the other traits. It'd be a poor school indeed if only one in four students was allowed to be clever, or hard working, or take risks."  

"Why are you nice to me?" Harry asked, cautious with the older man for the first time in a long while.  "What reasons?" 

Lyall rubbed a hand across his face, and Harry got the sense that he'd asked a very foolish question, but he needed to know. He wasn't altogether sure what to do. He and Remus had trusted Lyall. What if they'd been wrong?  

Lyall strode a couple of steps ahead before turning to back to face Harry directly.  

"Are you nice to me because you are nice to most people, or because we're friends of a sort? Or is it because I've kept Juney's secrets, or because I'm Remus's father?  He would want you to be nice to me, is that why you are?"  

"Yes?" Harry asked squinting, "I mean no? I mean-"  

"You have reasons for doing it, and that's fine, Harry. It's smart," Lyall said. "A person can have several reasons without any of them being bad. They make us who we are. Perhaps my reasons helped make me a Slytherin. My choices have given me a lot over the years. They've cost me things too, things I'd give my life to get back." 

"Like what?" Harry asked.  

Lyall didn't answer. He looked so sad that Harry took the hand he'd offered before and squeezed it.   

Silence and sadness from Lyall Lupin, and with the not entirely subtle way the older man's eyes flitted back towards the house, all signs pointed to Remus.  

Harry wondered if it had to do with Remus's illness.  Hadn't Remus said he'd been sick since he was younger than Harry? But how could "reasons", how could being one house or another make someone sick? Shrugging off the thought Harry asked another question.  

"Do wizards have calculators?" Harry asked. "Do calculators work at Hogwarts?"  

Harry watched as Lyall relaxed, feeling the hand in his get less stiff, and smiled as Lyall explained mechanical adding machines used by store owners, and the spells that could aid in complex math. 

* * *

 

Remus was sitting by the empty fire place, frowning.  Albus Dumbledore and his machinations were tiring. More tiring was the fact that the man was, more often than not, right.  

"You are, of course, free to do as you like," Dumbledore had told him, looking easily down at Remus's face in the fireplace. "I must remind you though, that it is often best to begin as we mean to go on. You have done well in helping Petunia in our world but she'll need to accept other wizards in Harry's life, and she has more than earned the right to take this step with him. Hagrid will be running an errand for me in a few days. I'm certain that he won't mind making a side trip on the same day. Take the boy out for ice-cream, but perhaps you'll be needing a disguise this time, and you'd do well to get to Fortescue's by lunch."  

It was simple enough to unpack. Juniper was Remus's cousin but, if Remus were seen wandering around with Harry Potter while Juniper vanished into the ether, people would do the math and Harry would never be able to use that alias again.  Remus and his father would have to be other people with Harry if they wanted him to have the option to be an ordinary wizarding child. As for the need to get to Fortescue's by lunch, Remus could only guess. 

"Fine," he muttered. "We'll do this your way." 

When Harry and Lyall returned from their walk, Remus explained the plan. If he noticed Harry looking at him and his father a bit oddly at times, well... He'd met Harry's grandparents. The results of the wheels turning in Harry's mind were as likely to be another container of meringues or a request for a new book as anything else. There was no harm in waiting to see which it was.    

With the plan communicated, the three of them settled down for a couple of rounds of a muggle board game. They played Scrabble, which Remus's mother had loved, and which Harry had played with his grandfather once or twice. Harry, in accordance with house rules, and to give him a chance at winning, was allowed to declare any combination of letters containing a vowel to be a word as long as he still checked their scrabble dictionary to see whether or not it was actually a word. Harry beat Lyall but lost to Remus, who won again in their final game.  

At around eleven, Remus turned to Harry, who'd taken up the dictionary and was idly glancing through it for funny looking words.  

"Run up and change." Remus directed. "I'll apparate us right into the back room at the Leaky Cauldron, so you'll want a light robe."  

"Yeah!" Harry agreed, dropping the tome and bolting as if he'd only been waiting for Remus's word.   

Remus grinned and looked to his father who smiled back before offering to alter Remus's appearance. 

* * *

 

When Harry came back downstairs, in a robe that Lyall had resized for him from among Remus's old things, he paused on the bottom step. He lifted a hand to his face and blinked before turning the hand to touch the cheek of the boy standing across from him. It was warm, and the owner of the face seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh.  

Harry shook his head to clear it, then looked around and saw Lyall struggling not to laugh as well.  

"Mr. Potter," Lyall said, "meet my wife's nephew, Juniper Howell. I hope you don't mind having him along."  

"It's Juney," the boy corrected.  

Harry's eyes went wide and he felt oddly frustrated. He was Juney. He had been for part of the time for over 2 years now. Remus hadn't said... but the transformation was so perfect... shaking his head he turned to Lyall.  

"It's fine," he said shortly. Turning to Remus (to Juney?) he said. "It's weird, but it's fine. Can we go?" 

Lyall nodded but Remus put a hand on Harry's shoulder. 

 "It'll only be a handful of times," he said, "just enough so that people won't make the connection. I'm not stealing him from you."  

Harry felt strange about the whole situation. Juniper was a way to be safe. It was a mask, not a boy, and not really Harry. Except he and his grandmother and grandfather had named the mask. His grandparents had given him the name like a spell, like the plants in his garden, speaking protection and love over him. Harry had never been into the wizarding world without carrying that blessing, without using the name that felt like the one they'd have chosen for him if he'd been born their son.   

 _"What will I have now?"_   Harry wondered. 

"What does my name mean?" he asked the older wizards. 

"Juney" raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, surprised and intrigued, it was such a Remus expression that it made Harry smile through the oddness of seeing it on his own sometimes face. 

Harry turned to Lyall, not bothering to repeat the question. Lyall walked over to a shelf and looked for a while before pulling out a dusty old book. He looked through it for a moment before nodding.  

"It's a name associated with leadership," Lyall told him. "And with armies. Not so gentle as Juniper, but strong and good in its way."  

Harry shook his head and walked to sit down in one of the hard chairs by the window. His parents had given him the name. It was all that he knew directly from them about what they'd wanted for him, about what they'd seen, in the middle of their hidden war, when they'd looked at him. It felt wrong. He didn't feel like a leader, and he wasn't a soldier. 

Something occurred to him mid-thought.  

"Army," Harry said, looking to Lyall again. "Not soldier? Army?" 

Lyall nodded, his brows drawing together in confusion, "Yes, armies."  

Harry considered the matter for a minute or two more, before nodding to himself.  

"OK. I'm ready to go now," he announced, and reached for Remus's hand.  

Remus pulled away.  

"Right after you explain," Remus said, and it was so strange to hear Juney speak from outside of himself that Harry almost forgot what he was meant to be explaining.  

"Armies aren't alone," Harry said, and it felt obvious now that he said it aloud. "Soldiers can be, but not an army, not even in a war. Grandmum and grand-da wanted Juniper to have that name and be safe. Mum wanted 'not alone in a war' for me, maybe. She could have wanted gentle things, Mum and Dad both could have, but they picked 'fighting together'. They picked together, not safe." 

Years down the line, an older Harry would realize that Voldemort had wanted two separate things in coming after him and his family. He'd needed to eliminate those who'd defied him three times, and he'd needed to defeat the child born at the end of July. Perhaps the smarter thing would have been to split both families up; to hide the Potters and Longbottoms in six different places with six different secret keepers, as far apart as could be managed, or at the least remove the boys from parents who could, in theory, have had other July babies. If fate wanted Voldemort to mark an equal certainly, it could have happened anyway. His parents had chosen together over safe in a lot of ways. 

In the moment, Harry tried to sum up what he'd realized as best he could. 

 "Juney can't have 'together' or friends really, besides you," Harry said. "Everyone's been saying that I might not be safe as just me, but's ok, because I get to be what they wanted. It's all jumbled. I can't say it right, but I feel it. It's ok if you're Juney for a bit. Can we get lunch?" 

There was more talking, about what it would mean to be the Boy Who Lived in public for the first time, and how people might react. Remus seemed shocked by what Harry had said for quite a while as well, but he put it aside, giving Harry a tight hug when they stood and prepared to leave. soon they were on their way.  

Harry felt the horrid disorienting squeeze and noise of apparition. And soon they were in the Leaky Cauldron's back room. 

* * *

 

 Harry felt eyes on him from the instant he stepped into the main dining area. It wasn't a wholly new experience. He was darker, in skin, hair, and eyes, than his family and always had been. He'd been glanced at oddly rather a lot in his life. He looked different, and people tripped over the difference with their eyes from time to time. 

The lingering quality was new though, as was the knowledge in the stares. He heard whispers of his name even before he walked up to Tom and introduced himself.  

"Hello sir," he said, looking up at the familiar face and knowing that the man would never know that he'd been serving him butterbeers with extra topping for years. "I'm Harry Potter. Can I have a tomato sandwich, chips, and a butterbeer?"  

Tom stared at his face for a moment before beaming down at him, "Coming right up Mr. Potter, straight away. Getting your Hogwarts things?"  

"Looking around a bit," Harry corrected, "Thanks. My friend Juney is going to be homeschooled, so we're making a day of it before things get busy."  

Tom looked around and waved Juney and Lyall over, "All this time and you never said! Shoulda guessed, mind you, Potter and your son being as close as they were. I'll have your usual out with the lad's, sit where you like."  

Harry blinked at the dismissal but nodded and headed to their usual seat near the doors to the alley, directed by Lyall's hand at his back.  

Patrons of the inn clasped his shoulder and introduced themselves, offering handshakes, words of encouragement, and thanks. Harry tried to accept them gracefully but found that it was all that he could do to smile awkwardly at each person, and periodically repeat that it was nice to meet everyone.  

Things settled down some after they sat. Tom brought their food and took payment for them, with Harry waving off several kind offers by other patrons who’d moved to buy his meal.  

Aware of all the eyes on him and getting progressively more uncomfortable, Harry ate quickly. Juney and Lyle talked about the books Juney had been reading in preparation for his studies, and Harry tried not to react much. Now especially, he could see the value in keeping Juney around and separate from Harry’s real name and life.  

When they’d finished eating, Harry turned to Lyall. 

“Can we go back?” he asked quietly. “I don’t think I want ice cream anymore.” 

Lyall seemed ready to allow it, but “Juney” shook his head.  

“Just a scoop?” He asked. Remus somehow managed to make the almost whiny entreaty ring with an air of command, despite being only slightly taller than Harry and enchanted to look the same age. “It’s the last time we’ll be able to go before next summer.”  

Harry shrugged his defeat and didn’t argue when Lyall led them out of the nearby door and over to the hidden entrance to Diagon Alley. He found himself holding his breath as Remus tapped the brick with his wand. This bit never got old or ordinary. The wall rolled apart like a series of heavy curtains till an archway formed. Whoever he was, whatever people saw when they looked at him, Harry Potter was a wizard. This world was his by birth and stepping through into its hidden places felt like coming home.  

* * *

 

The walk to Fortescue’s was uneventful. Lyall transfigured a napkin from lunch into a passable pointed hat that covered his scar. They got a couple of second glances, particularly as word seemed to spread from the people in the Leaky Cauldron, but no one approached them.  

 Harry found himself relaxing as they came to the shop, with its brightly colored sign and pleasant seating area beside the front window. There was a boy his age sitting in one of the chairs with a small cake set out on the table.   

As they approached the door, Harry stopped and turned to look again. There were candles on the cake, and it was decorated in funny dancing shapes, owls and letters of all things. The boy was blond and round faced. He reminded Harry of a smaller, sadder looking Dudley.  

"Harry?" Juney whispered, but Harry waved him off.  It was just another boy, surely they couldn't object to Harry meeting another boy his age.  

Harry walked over to him, barely noticing that Lyall had gone on into the shop, or that Juney was leaning against the wall by the door as if waiting for him.  

"Hello, I'm Harry," Harry said, taking a seat at the table next to the one where the boy was sitting, "It's your birthday?"  

"In three days," The boy replied. "I'm Neville. Got my letter today, and Gran wanted to celebrate early. Says I'm round enough already without having two cakes in the same week." 

"I got my letter today too," Harry offered, "and my birthday is in four days. Had to come today cause it was the only day Mr. Lupin could bring me. Glad to meet you. I don’t know anyone else in our year."  

The door opened loudly and Harry and Neville both started as an older woman in robes that seemed too dark and heavy for the weather approached them. She held out a cup of ice cream to Neville, and he took it with a nervous smile. 

"Gran, this is Harry. His birthday's right after mine! Harry, this is my Gran, Augusta Longbottom," Neville introduced shyly.  

The older woman looked at Harry for a long moment, her eyes widening a little.

"I know a Potter when I see one," she said, "though you've got your mother's eyes. The scar?"  

Harry glanced to doorway where Lyall and "Juney" stood watching. Lyall looked down to his disguised son, deferring to Remus as always where Harry was concerned.  Juney nodded, and Harry slipped his hat back and moved his fringe aside to show Mrs. Longbottom the scar.  

Neville fell out of his chair, covering himself in ice-cream from the cup that had still been in his hand. Augusta turned to put him to rights, and Lyall and Juney joined them, sitting at Harry's table. Lyall was carrying the largest chocolate sundae that Harry had ever seen, and he set it on the table.  

"You're not getting another," Mrs. Longbottom scolded, and Neville's face was bright red.  

"Have some of mine," Harry offered. "there's a ton, and it's half my fault you fell. I'm sorry. Still getting used to telling people. I don't go out much."  

"I'd have dropped it anyway," Neville sighed. "Or tipped the cake or something.  It's why she didn't light the candles. Gran, can Harry have some of the cake. He's celebrating, same as us. His friend and his ... um... him too?"  

Augusta turned to Lyall and the two began talking. Harry got the sense that they'd met before, maybe at Hogwarts? But when she gave Neville a nod and absent mindedly flicked her wand at the cake to divide it into slices, both boys focused on the sweets. Juney pulled a book from a pocket in his robes, and Harry took it as permission to get to know Neville a bit more.  

A couple of hours later, they parted with promises to meet again on the train to school and plans to exchange photos of their gardens.  

Harry was glad when Lyall led them to an alley not far from the shop, and apparated them back to his home. It'd been a long, tiring day, and he still had to help with dinner that night.  

Remus undid the spells that made him look like 'Juney' soon after they arrived, and Harry looked at him for a long time.  

"Will I still see you?" Harry asked. "Can you visit me at Hogwarts?"  

Remus kneeled in front of him as Lyall went to put the kettle on and give the two some time.  

"You'll be busy, Harry. Busier than most, with your muggle school work, you magical studies, and with your friends," Remus said.  

"Not too busy for you," Harry replied. "Please? There's gotta be a kitchen there. I'll make you chocolate shortbread! With chips and everything!"  

"There'll be breaks," Remus soothed, putting his hands on the boy's shoulders. "and letters, and Hogsmeade visits when you're older, perhaps."  

"Who'll make sure you're eating well, and visiting your dad, and going fun places?" Harry asked. It was strange, in all the years that he'd been imagining going to Hogwarts, he'd forgotten that that meant he wouldn't be in dozens of other places and roles he'd taken up as his own over the years.  

"I suppose Dad and I will have to manage, somehow," Remus said with an ironic little quirk of his mouth. "Though clearly, we were starving, alone, and bored for years before you came along. You'll go and look after Neville, and hopefully find some friends who'll look after you as well."  

Harry leaned forward and pressed his face into Remus's neck.  

"You'll look after aunt Pet," he asked, "and Uncle Vernon?"  

"I'll check in on them, if that'll help you focus on your studies," Remus vowed. "Don't fret so much. There's still months left. You haven't even got your school things. This isn't a goodbye, I promise. We don't need to practice for it."  

Harry nodded. 

"Can I read a little before we head back to my aunt's?" he asked. Remus nodded, and Harry walked upstairs to the guest room. Prongs, the old plush stag toy was lying on chair beside the window. Remus seemed unsettled by Padfoot, so the dog toy stayed at his aunt's.  

Harry picked up the stag and settled it in his lap, holding it lightly as he stared out through the window, and tried to make sense of the day.  

* * *

 

On Privet Drive that evening a car backfired despite no one having been seen to be starting one, and Dudley Dursley grinned at the screen of his new computer.  

He'd had a brilliant day, golfing with his father and he had tons that he wanted to tell Harry about. Then he'd have to get a look at that letter that had been making his mother and Harry so tense over the summer.  

Finishing up a round on his computer game, Dudley stood went to wash his hands before going downstairs to do his part in getting ready for dinner. It a pasta night, and Dudley would be doing the noodles. That would leave plenty of opportunity to talk.  

When he got downstairs, he waved to Remus who was sitting at the table and talking to Dudley's mum. Harry was getting the bowls and glasses out.  

"How was it?" Dudley asked, getting a pot from a cabinet, and filling it with water. "See anything cool?"  

"Made a friend, I think," Harry replied. "Met a lot of people. Did you beat your dad this time?"  

"I was so close," Dudley said. "Dad says I'll definitely get him next time if I keep working at my swing." 

Remus came over and told Harry to expect his owl soon. He gave Dudley a polite wave that Dudley mirrored in reply.  

When he left, Dudley looked over at his mum, who seemed to be deep in thought. She'd never tell him about what. Things to do with Harry's other world, with magic, and even with Remus Lupin were not for him. They weren't bad, they just didn't involve him, in the same way that loads of things didn't. Dudley was British and liked going down to down pub and watching footie matches with his dad, and bobsledding wasn't for him. He was also a muggle, born without the spark of magic that'd come from nowhere in his aunt, so there wasn't anything for him in Harry's world either, the obvious exception being Harry himself.  

Dudley caught his cousin's eye, and asked "Sleepover in my room tonight?"  

Harry nodded, and Dudley dropped noodles into the boiling water, contented. Harry wouldn't tell him everything, but he'd tell him enough, and then maybe they could take turns on his game for a bit. For a few weeks yet, they were still living together, he realized suddenly. At the end of the summer they'd start moving in different directions, and unlike before, when Harry had been with Grandmum and Grand-dad, now they wouldn't even see each other every month, or be able to call every few days.  

"Tomorrow night, too?" Dudley asked.  

Harry blinked at him before he caught up to Dudley's train of thought and nodded again.  

"My room tomorrow," Harry replied, and the two moved out of the way so that Dudley's mum could heat the pasta sauce.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I thought it would so sorry for that. Thanks so much for everyone who's given Kudos /comments on the first chapter and for anyone who does moving forward. can't tell you how many times I saw them and went back to the word document. Thanks for reading this too. Tentatively the plan is for the next chapter to bring a lot of familiar characters as we (hopefully) make our way to the school, and gear up for Harry's first year. I'll get it posted when it's written and ready (I have no buffer, guys, I'm posting as write and edit). 
> 
> Till then thanks so much for reading this, I hope you're enjoying it, kudos or comment at will, and while I make no promises ** if you put a request for a short-medium sized one-shot set in this au, I might write that and direct you to it in a reply to your comment. (like it's highly probable, but i'm leaving wiggle room because I'm not sure how many requests I might get/ over what span of time, if that makes sense)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

Rubeus Hagrid was sitting at a table in the Leaky Cauldron and thinking about Harry Potter. 

This had not been an uncommon past time since the boy's appearance there days before, but none of the others who'd taken it up could have carried it out in the exact fashion that Hagrid had.  None of them had heard the wailing child in the smoldering house on that cold, October night. They hadn't walked past the bodies of such greats as James and Lily Potter to take up his small, shaking form. Nor had they talked with the soon to be murderer, Sirius Black, who'd arrived just as Harry had moved from shrieks to quiet tears and straining towards parents who could not reach back.  

Hagrid had spent a day with the boy, making his way towards Privet drive by slow and hidden paths. He'd found himself stopping to feed the boy and soothe him, to have him seen by a healer from The Order, and to weep himself, for all that had been lost and for the terrible, gnawing relief at You-Know-Who's disappearance. The hope of peace had not come cheaply, and the memory of a time without disappearances and forced betrayals seemed far off and fragile. The boy in his arms had never seen that time. It seemed remarkable that he'd somehow brought it back.  

That night Hagrid had flown the motorbike to what he'd thought would be Harry's new home, with that breathing, soft, warmth bound up in blankets and held close to him the whole way. 

Hagrid didn't know what to make of the woman who'd held that little boy and given him away, only to take him back years later. He didn't know if he was angry with Petunia Dursley, or glad that she'd had the sense not to keep and hate the soft, innocent child of two brave, good souls. He half wondered if she'd bring Harry to him as she'd been directed or if he'd have to figure out how to fetch the boy. 

He didn't think on it long though, as the door of the Cauldron opened, admitting a short, dark skinned boy with wild hair and a woman who was tall and pale as sunlight.  

Harry Potter and his aunt had arrived, and Hagrid stood to greet them. 

* * *

"Happy Birthday, 'arry!" 

A booming voice startled Petunia and sent Harry whirling around briefly, seeking the source of the greeting. 

The Leaky Cauldron had not changed noticeably in the years since Petunia's first visit. Tom seemed a bit more worn at the edges, and the assortment of strange and concerning patrons was different as well. The tables, dark wood and crafted without screws or nails that she could see, were still just as ancient seeming. The unsettling movement of the light was the same, and the sleepy, soft feeling encouraged by scents of burning wood and wicks, of wax melting and food cooking, were all just the same as before. 

It brought her no comfort, and did nothing to stop her from tensing up and grabbing Harry's shoulder as the enormous man who'd spoken lumbered over and stopped in front of Harry.

Petunia willed herself to remain calm. They were meant to be meeting someone and Remus had said that the man was rather large. If Remus knew him and was unconcerned, then she should be as well. 

 "Thank you, um sir," Harry said awkwardly.  

"Sir? Ha! I'm no 'sir' to the likes of you," the man said, chuckling. "Name's Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the keys and grounds at Hogwarts!" 

"Nice to meet you!" Harry said. "I'm Harry, and This is my Aunt Petunia, but you probably knew that. Are the grounds very big? That must be a lot of work for one person." 

_Oh no_ , Petunia thought.  _He'll have a new charge by days end._  He'd been talking about Neville since he got home from his trip with Remus. At this rate, Her nephew would adopt the whole of the wizarding world before even making it to school. 

"It keeps me busy, true enough, but there's no place better. " Hagrid said. "You'll see for yourself! Not long now! Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Dursley. Coming along to shop with us?" 

"Yes," Petunia replied, warily. 

Hagrid gave her a nod, then turned back to Harry. "We'd best be off then. Gringotts first, though. I've Hogwarts business to take care of, then we'll see about getting your school things and your wand." 

"Ok," Harry said. "I need to get money for my stuff anyway."

Hagrid nodded, and led the way to the Alley. Harry followed, but turned and held a hand out to Petunia. Too kind for his own good, he was. Too used to making concessions and taking care of people.  

"I'll be fine," she murmured. "Eyes ahead." 

Petunia sighed and resisted a smile when he slowed and fell into step beside her, taking her hand anyway. She sped up, keeping them close to Hagrid, but couldn’t deny that it was easier to breathe now. She resigned herself, as she sometimes must, to being cared for, and she cast her gaze around them. Harry was watching her, and that would be alright as long as she and this Hagrid fellow kept an eye on everything else. 

Hagrid tapped at the bricks with an umbrella that had been hanging from one of the odd pockets of his coat.  The bricks rolled away, allowing them passage, and they went forward (Hadn't Remus always used a wand? Would anything tapping on the right bricks work?). Petunia resolved to ask Remus later, if she still wanted to know. 

It was different to walk down Diagon Alley with Harry Potter. He'd been Juney before, and unremarkable, but as a celebrity in the company of what might well be a giant, he drew stares and whispers that made Petunia grip his hand harder and wonder if this would be easier when Harry was older, more ordinary to them and better able to defend himself. 

They reached the door with its ominous warning and Harry pushed it open, almost pulling her inside.  She'd been to Gringotts once or twice before, but threatening poetry was one of the few things Harry thought he'd been able to keep her from. Petunia couldn't bring herself to tell him that she'd seen it before,  read it, and thought it a bit funny. It was an easy win to give him, and there was no harm in it at all. 

"Griphook, 'Lo sir!" Harry greeted a goblin sitting at a desk not far inside the large main room. The goblin standing closer to the door gave him an odd look,  but shrugged and waved "Griphook" over. 

"I need to get money from my vault," Harry said, "and Hagrid had Hogwarts business." 

"Been sent for the you-know-what in seven hundred thirteen, got this letter for it from the headmaster,"  Hagrid added, producing the letter.  Harry pulled out his key as well and Griphook led them further into the bank. 

Harry asked a few impertinent questions, and one concerning one about if they'd "be going deep enough to see the dragon this time", and then there was the riding about in the insane mining cart to deal with, but the day had begun in earnest.  

As they walked away from the bank, Petunia felt gratified to see Hagrid looking as dizzy and anxious as she felt. The chair in the robe shop where they went next was a welcome enough sight that she didn't even protest when Hagrid nipped back to the Leaky cauldron for "a pick-me-up". 

* * *

"Hogwarts, Then?" Madame Malkin asked, and Harry nodded, wishing he could just instruct her to use Juney's measurements from when Lyall had bought him a new shirt and slacks last Christmas. he didn't think he'd grown much.

When she directed him into the back, he turned to his aunt. 

Aunt Petunia spoke to Madame Malkin, asking, "He'll be just there, yes? And there's no spells blocking sound?" 

"No spells, and he'll remain well in sight, ma'am, but no one here's a danger to him," the woman replied gently. "Murder is bad for business. " 

Harry laughed, but Madame Malkin didn't, and that seemed good enough for his aunt, who sighed but waved a dismissal. 

That taken care of, Harry noticed another boy, taller than him and very blond, being fitted for robes. He looked bored but he spoke up all the same as Harry stepped up on the stool beside him.  

"Hogwarts, too?" The blond boy asked. 

"Yes, can't wait," Harry replied. 

"It's not as exciting as all that," the boy drawled, "but better than the school room at home, I suppose. Father is getting my books and Mother is sizing up the crowds at Ollivander's, wants to be sure he'll give me his full attention. I'll have the best in his shop within the hour, and then a good racing broom if I can bully Father into it." 

"I didn't think first-years were allowed," Harry said. "Sneaking one in'd be a devil of a trick. Can't very well shrink it yourself, and what if whoever undid it grassed you up?" 

"I'd find way," the boy continued blithely, though he did narrow his eyes a bit at the unfamiliar phrase. He gestured towards Harry's aunt. "Who's that then? Got a minder, have you? " 

Harry shrugged, and the boy let it go.  "Do you play quidditch? I've not seen you in the junior league."

"I don't play," Harry said shortly, trying not to encourage the rude boy, but the message didn't seem to get through. 

"I play rather well! Seeker on my house team in no time, Father says. Slytherin house, like my family. Though of course no one knows till they get there. What house for you then?" 

Harry thought of Lyall. Not all Slytherins were like this boy, and really the boy mightn't end up there anyway. Still, he couldn't help the rush of desire to avoid more time with him.

"Not sure," Harry answered.

"Hopefully not Hufflepuff. I'd leave if I got put with that lot," the blond continued.  "What about your parents?" 

The boy narrowed his eyes suddenly, "They're our sort, yeah?" 

"Witch and wizard, if that's the sort you mean," Harry said. 

"Good," the boy replied, relaxing, "The other sort don't belong. How could they? Bit cruel to let them in, if you ask me; making proper wizards associate with them." 

Madame Malkin's eyes met Harry's and Harry thought she could see something of his reaction in face because she quickly turned to address the blond. 

"All done, Malfoy. Your father's seen to the bill." 

The blond nodded with a distant superiority that looked, to Harry's eyes, quite ridiculous on a boy their age, and offered Harry a wave as he left the shop. 

Harry looked to his aunt, who seemed as irritated as he felt, and over her shoulder he saw Hagrid approaching, two ice creams in hand.  It was only their first shop, but Harry was glad for a pick-me up of his own. 

"Shame you couldn't have come with me," Hagrid said, as they ate. "Saw one of your professors there, and he'd have liked to meet you. Professor Quirrel, it was. He'll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year." 

"What's he like?" Harry asked, eager for information about the school. 

"He seems an alright fellow. Has a bit of a stutter; suppose he's seen some things, but who hasn't?" Hagrid replied. "Takes some courage to take on the Defense Job, so I suppose he got some stored away somewhere." 

Harry nodded, remembering what Remus had told him about the position and its knack for coming up empty every year. In the short time that they'd been standing together in the Alley the number of eyes on them had started to increase. Harry ate more quickly. They needed to get moving again soon. 

* * *

 

Petunia tried to put Harry’s interaction with the blond boy (Mal-what’s-it?) out of her mind as she waited for Harry and Hagrid to finish their ice-cream. She tried, but failed. This was only the second wizarding child that Harry had spoken to for any length of time. Already the prejudices that had consumed her sister’s life had caught her nephew’s scent. 

She wondered suddenly if her efforts to give him choices would leave him unable to properly root himself in the world that he’d been born into. She’d never given a moment’s thought about what his peers would think of the extra hours he’d be studying. 

A hand in hers brought her back to the present. 

“Trunk first, then books, then supplies?” Harry asked. “Hagrid says that Ollivander’s should be clear by the time we’re done with that.” 

"Alright," Petunia said. "Best be off if we're to get home in time to make dinner." 

The stop off to buy the trunk was a quick one. Harry was getting a standard one for Hogwarts students, with his name on a placard on the side and with the option to have the  plain brown lining inside changed  to match his house colors should he desire it at a later date. Hagrid carried it as they went from store to store, shrinking it for convenience.

The bookstore was a regular haunt of theirs, and Petunia followed behind Harry as he picked up a couple of books that hadn't been on the school list. She smiled as he sat down in the aisle with a book on wands, taking care to adjust her expression before he looked up at her.  He may have had her sister's eyes, her brother-in-laws face, and her mother's free and protective affection, but in a bookshop or a library, he was Lyle Evans's grandson, every inch of him. 

The shop clerk called out that his books had been assembled, and Harry took the books he was adding to the stack over to the counter and paid for the lot, carefully counting out the right number of silver and bronze coins. The clerk put a feather-weight charm on the books and Hagrid resized the trunk so that they could be put inside. 

Petunia was patient and tried to be open minded and calm as they picked up things like cauldrons and telescopes. The apothecary, with its eerie collections of parts and plants, of dead things, was unsettling, but few things weren't on this alley.  

She hadn't come with Lily the first time. She'd been so angry and hurt that she couldn't go to Hogwarts herself that she'd spent the day and night and a friend's house, seriously considering throwing rocks through every single one of the windows of the house where the Snape boy and his horrid family lived. They wouldn't have been able to fix them all overnight, not without talk.  They likely wouldn't have called the police. Petunia couldn’t work out a way to explain it though, or to recruit her friend, so their windows had been safe. 

As they walked towards the wand shop, it occurred to her that Hagrid,  or even Remus - to think of it- could tell her if Snape had survived the war, but it seemed strange to even wonder about it a decade on. It was stranger still to look back with her new perspective, on her family, and on magic, and see an abused child who'd reached out and tried to find a friend in her sister.  Resentment at what he'd apparently become was tempered with pity for what he'd been. Troubled pasts did not force dark futures though, she thought, looking down at Harry. A life begun in fear and death had left little stain on the bright caring boy walking beside her. Pity could soften resentment, but it could not erase choice, or responsibility, or guilt. 

The wand shop was empty as they approached. Hagrid let Harry open the door. Somewhere inside the narrow and dusty shop a bell rang, summoning  a tall, thin man with grey, unsettling eyes.  Harry seemed to breath differently as they entered the shop, Petunia noticed. There was a reverence to the way he looked around, an awe that Petunia did not herself feel. Even Hagrid attempted to straighten up, though it wasn't altogether certain that he would fit.  Looking around the dusty room briefly, she decided it must be some magical thing beyond her reach, and focused on the man in front of them. 

"Mr. Potter," he said slowly, "I've been expecting you. You have your mother's eyes. It seems just yesterday when I met them and her, as she came for her first wand.  Ten and a quarter inches long, Willow, and swishy. Nice for charm work, though her next, a sycamore of the same length, though firmer was a pairing was much better." 

Petunia wished he'd look away from her nephew. There was something hard to parse in his stare and wanted to pull Harry behind her, but could not think why. 

"Your father, though I've heard he changed a great deal in his life, was constant in his compatibility with Mahogany wands, eleven inches, generally pliable. The wand chooses in the end, or rather more often at the beginning. The wand chooses the wizard.  The wizard makes most of the choices after that. It's not all in the wand, butone does have regrets from time to time... That's where?" 

Ollivander reached a thin hand up and touched the scar on Harry's face. Harry started at the touch and the man pulled his hand back, continuing, "I sold the wand that did this, I'm sorry to say, this and so many other things. Thirteen and a half inches, Yew, very powerful, and put to very dark purpose. If I had known..." 

He turned to greet Hagrid, but Petunia was focused on Harry. She put a hand on his shoulder and murmered, "A good strong cup of tea before we head home?  With extra sugar in yours?" 

Harry nodded distantly, listening to Ollivander and Hagrid. 

"Oh no sir, " Hagrid said in response to something Petunia had missed, and he clutched his odd little umbrella.

Ollivander turned his gaze to Petunia. 

"I'm Harry's aunt, Petunia Dursley," she said. "I'll never need a wand, though I suppose I've seen rather a lot of your work today."

The old man nodded solemnly before saying, "There are shield wards around the door and the chairs beside it; I renew them daily. If you stand in that area once he begins the selection process you'll be perfectly safe." 

"Now, Mr. Potter," he said, shifting his focus to Harry and pulling a long tape measure from his pocket. "Hold out your wand arm. Yes, just so." 

Petunia stepped back into the doorway and watched as the man made a long series of measurements while explaining about wands and their cores. She jumped slightly as he walked over to some nearby shelves and the tape measure kept working independently. 

Soon enough, the man ordered the tape measure to stop, allowing it to fall to the floor in a heap, and he handed Harry wand after wand, taking them back as quickly as he'd put them in the boy's hand. Ollivander's joy in the challenge made his seem more strange rather than less, but Harry seemed at ease, aside from being a bit confused. 

Finally, Ollivander handed him one that the man reported was an unusual combination; holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, supple. 

From the moment Harry touched the wand, Petunia could see that this was different. Harry looked at it in awe but only for a moment before raising it high and bringing it down in a spray of red and gold sparks that shaped themselves into birds, like the ones his mother had cast in the one picture they had of her doing magic. The birds flew around Harry in a miraculous, shining spiral before dissipating. Ollivander and Hagrid clapped but Petunia was struck by the sight. He was so much like Lily. Her old fears began to creep towards the surface. How could she raise him from a distance, as he grew into this? How could she protect him? Could anyone ever be prepared for either task? Lily could have done this, but Petunia had felt less than her sister a long time, even if she'd given up hating her for it. Petunia wondered, for the thousanth time, if she could be enough; if the whole of the small family Harry had collected would be enough .  

The expectant silence as she realized that Harry was watching her reaction made Petunia force as wide a smile as she could manage. 

"That was brilliant," Petunia said with total honesty. "She'd be so proud." 

With that, Ollivander spoke again, "Of course, and rightfully. Though it's curious, very curious indeed." 

The man took the wand back and it neatly into its cushioned box before wrapping it up. 

Harry asked for clarification, and Ollivander obliged. 

"I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. It's a peculiar talent that runs in my family." Ollivander said, "I've never forgotten a single one. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that this wand would choose you, out of everyone to try it in the years since it was crafted, when its brother —why, its brother gave you that scar.”

Ollivander looked at the scar again, and nodded as if to himself. 

"I think that we've yet to see the greatest of your deeds, Mr. Potter." he said, slipping the wrapped wand box  into a long blue bag, "After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named did great things- terrible, yes, but great." 

Harry didn't say anything at that, and he was so unsettled that when Ollivander asked for payment he handed his money pouch to Petunia. 

It was no trouble to count out the seven gold coins before returning the pouch to its rightful owner, and when Ollivander moved to give Harry the bag with his wand Petunia moved to take it in his stead, but Harry stepped forward and accepted it with a whisper of thanks. 

Their business done, Petunia hurried her nephew out of the store and into the warm sunlight. The eerie pride in Ollivander's voice had been chilling.  He'd made wands that had fought on both sides of the war. He'd put them in the hands of children, who'd grown from throwing sparks to ending lives and worse. Petunia wondered what that sort of thing did to a person. Wizards needed wands, and there was no way to know what a wand would do once it left his shop. 

They started back up the ally, but Hagrid stopped them at a store that sold owls, stepping inside briefly before coming back with a caged snowy owl and a middling sized brown bag full of supplies for it. 

"For your birthday," Hagrid announced. 

Harry was elated. Much of the unease that he'd carried left him as he looked at the beautiful bird, preening tiredly in the cage. 

Harry looked to Petunia, asking with his eyes, and she found herself nodding without even giving the matter thought.  He was just so happy, and it was his birthday. There was no way that she could deny him.  Perhaps now he'd stop asking for a pet snake, she thought, and spend less time giving her heart attacks by holding them in the garden. Owls ate snakes, didn't they?

Hagrid walked with them through the alley and back out through the Leaky Cauldron. He carried the Harry's trunk and owl down through the streets of London, to the car, where Petunia had parked it in the train station's parking lot. 

After getting the day's purchases settled, he gave Harry a kind pat on the back that nearly winded the  boy and offered Petunia a fond smile. 

"You've done right by him, far as I can see," Hagrid told her. "I'm mighty glad of that. James and Lily were the best of their year, no doubt, and kinder souls than many." 

"Write to me any time lad," he told Harry. "I've heard you've an interest in creatures, and I know summat about the magical sort myself." 

Petunia was hard pressed to think of a subject Harry didn't have at least a passing interest in; perhaps maths. 

Harry nodded and thanked their escort. When Hagrid lumbered off, Harry turned to Petunia. 

"Tea?" He asked. 

They went inside the train station and ordered some, asking for the bags  and cups of hot water so that they could prepare it themselves. While the tea steeped, Petunia asked Harry if he still felt comfortable with their plans for him, if he wanted to sit for his A-levels knowing that some people might look down on him for it. 

"Yeah," Harry said, surprise etched into his voice. "I promised you and Uncle Vernon, and I've been in school all these years. I don't want to be friends with anyone who'd hate me for not just tossing all that in the bin 'cause I've got a wand now."

"You don't know that, " Petunia said. "I wanted to give you more choices, not take them away while having you work harder than all of your classmates." 

"I don't want to give up," Harry said. "What if there's more people like the blond kid than like Neville and Remus? I could be a scientist, and work in a zoo, or in a preserve or something."

"You'd still be what you are," Petunia reminded him. 

"I'll be that no matter what I study, " Harry replied. "Let me try at least, get my GCSE's done, if it's too hard, I can take my A-levels late, or not do them. I'm not scared of what brats like him'll think of me." 

Realizing how set he was on this, Petunia relaxed and gave in.  

"Alright, but you'll promise to spend time with friends, and you'll tell me if it's too much work," Petunia said. "We can do more during the summers and around Christmas if need be, but your Hogwarts work won't wait. You study for that first. We'll see if your astronomy lessons will overlap enough for you to sit for that one if you like." 

Harry nodded and they finished their tea in relative silence. 

* * *

 

"Happy birthday, Harry!"  Dudley shouted when Harry opened the door to Number four, Privet drive that evening. 

Harry grinned and walked over to the table that held five or six colorfully wrapped packages, a cake, and numerous cards from old friends. 

In his mind he'd begun the countdown, there were Thirty-two nights, thirty one days until he had to leave this place again, and go... back to his own world? Harry couldn't deny what he was, and the draw of magical places, but this was home too, and he vowed never to forget that. 

He opened packages of comic books, and notebooks, of magnifying glasses ,and a camera. Remus had given him potions to use in film development, made by Lyall, and with instructions to send  pictures of himself and his friends as soon as possible. 

When his aunt stopped by his room that night, to check on him and tell him to sleep well, Harry had a thought. Dudley was in the shower, so they had time to talk before his cousin came to ask about the day. 

"Can we practice?" Harry asked, "Before I leave, can we practice?" 

Aunt petunia closed her eyes as if holding back tears but nodded. "Where will you find me?" 

"Not that," Harry said. "Remus said it's not goodbye, and I know where you are.  Couldn't lose you if I tried. 'No one is lost forever'.  She said love is how we come home, but how? I've never left on my own before."

Aunt Petunia thought for what seemed like a long time before asking, "What's the first thing you'll do when you come home at Christmas Holidays, or Easter if you decide to stay at school for them?  I'll tell you to put your things away but what will you do after that?" 

Harry considered this before saying, "watch a movie with Dudley, probably, or call Ryan or Inez in Cokeworth, since it'll just be letters while I'm at school." 

"We'll try and plan a visit, and see Mum and Da in the cemetery while we're there," Aunt Petunia replied. 

"Then help and eat dinner, and maybe watch the news before bed," Harry finished, smiling. "And write to Remus; he'll want to know I'm home." 

"Then you'll be home, and still loved," Aunt Petunia said briskly. "You'll still have a place here because of that. Hellos are much easier, even on your own. You've been practicing every morning of your life, it's just that we'll be getting you from the train, not calling you down for breakfast." 

"I might be different," Harry said. "I might grow, or sound different, like when Inez came back from her cousins' in India." 

"We might be different too," his aunt pointed out. "Dudley will be taller and older than he is now by months, and maybe sound like his classmates, but this is home, and he'll belong here too, every centimeter and stone of him. Just like you welcomed us, back when we only saw you once a month. Just like Mum and Da let me back in, after years. There's no more to it than you already know." 

Dudley walked in without knocking and Petunia kissed his forehead, ruffled Harry's hair a little, and walked out of the room. 

"You two are so weird sometimes," Dudley remarked, looking back and for between Harry and the open door. 

Harry shrugged and stood, walking over to the cage where his new owl was waking up. There was a stack of new books on the table beside her. 

"Help me find a name for my owl so I can write to Remus about her?" He asked. 

Dudley sighed as he often did when there were books involved, but relented, and the two began their search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and to anyone who's left kudos and comments or subscribed to this fic. You are awesome and the support helps make this fic happen. Lots of retreading ground from the first book today, and I did pull a couple of lines directly from the chapter, though I tried to paraphrase or change things up when possible. I know what I said last chapter, but next chapter we will definitely make it to Hogwarts, through the sorting and beyond. I'll have that out in the next month at the latest (Forgive me, and know that it could be sooner, depending on how life goes)
> 
> Speaking of sorting, just out of curiosity do you feel like Harry as we know him in this verse is still a Gryffindor? I have my thoughts and you'll get them when I write and post the next chapter, but please let me know in the comments (or not, comments are life regardless)
> 
> Oh and finally: If anyone more familiar than me with homeschooling in the uk in the 90's has thoughts re harry's independent muggle studies, I want them. Me and google do our best but american schooling has left me woefuly unprepared for that aspect of this. I do know that it's an insane amount of work i've signed our boy up for.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains spoilers for later in the series so if that's a concern for you... be aware.

Chapter 4  

 _There could be hundreds of them,_  Dudley thought suddenly, stopping short and nearly being pulled to the floor by the momentum of the cart bearing Harry’s trunk and owl.  Dudley had been pushing the cart through the station with his cousin at his side when it occurred to him that he might be surrounded by people like Harry and he’d never really know.  

  “Dudley, what’s wrong?” His mum asked, barely audible in the din of the station. King’s Cross was alive with travelers. 

Harry took the cart handle and bent to see if the jostling had woken Hedwig. Satisfied he looked back to Dudley, who could only shrug and ignore the warmth making its way towards his face. He couldn’t help it. Harry’s world and the things in it had always been mostly out of sight, a distant, blandly nice doorway tucked at the edge of Dudley’s life. It was Remus, and the moving pictures of Aunt Lily, and Harry going on outings and coming back with impossible stories. Now he was at the barrier to their world, as close as his mum would ever let him be.  

Harry walked forward, pushing his things in front of him, and Dudley fell back, looking around for other people with bird cages or trunks. It was so crowded that it was hard to look for specific things. His mum grabbed his arm and pulled him along, and Dudley gave up. Instead he ran to walk beside Harry while he could and looked around for platforms 9 and 10.  

     “You won’t forget to write to me, right?” Harry asked him, “Address the letters to number 4?”  

     “I won’t forget. Sure you can’t just go with me to Smeltings?” Dudley asked. “Maybe if you don’t like it at school you could transfer. Just turn up and ask for a uniform.” 

     Harry shook his head, saying “Maybe next year.” 

     Neither of them believed it, but Dudley nodded.  

Ahead of them a shock of color drew Dudley’s eye even before he saw the sign for platform 9. It was a family of redheads. A woman and several oddly dressed kids.  

     Dudley nudged Harry’s arm.  

     “I think we’re here,” he said uselessly.  

     “You’ll be awesome at school, you and Piers,” Harry said. “Sorry I can’t see you off.”  

    “Yeah. Don’t get blown up or study too much or anything,” Dudley said. “Can’t have my little cousin getting hurt.”  

      Harry rolled his eyes, but grinned.  

      Dudley stepped away and turned, watching to see what his mum would do. He almost wished he hadn’t, as she pressed a hand to Harry’s face and looked at him with an intensity that made Dudley shift on his feet. It was like she was memorizing him, like they were losing him.   

     Then, with a nod, she moved the hand to his shoulder and turned him towards the wall and the redheads gathered around it.  

     Harry approached them, spoke to them for a moment or two then backed up. He shot a glance back at Dudley and his mum before he walked towards the wall. In the last moments he picked up speed and, just when it seemed he'd crash-  

     He was gone.  

     Dudley nearly yelled but stopped himself just in time. A boy around their age went through next, and no one around them seemed to notice. Had Dudley ever blindly passed people disappearing into walls? How many ways had Harry's world been hiding so close by, all this time? No one saw a thing. 

      A tug on Dudley’s arm had him turning to his mother. It was time to go. 

 On the walk back out of the station, Dudley looked for some sign of other wizards heading for the platform but he saw none. Part of him wanted to run back and touch the wall. Would it be solid for him? Was it like the pub Harry talked about, with non-magic people bumbling in from time to time? It didn't matter, Dudley knew his mum would never let him try.  

The world looked too ordinary for a magic train to be leaving from this station, for there to be a whole hidden street –not all that far away even- where wizards bought and sold things, too ordinary for his cousin to be gone.  

“I know,” his mother said gently. “It’s strange, but you were always going to go your own ways someday.” 

Dudley nodded, though as he stepped out of the station he wished that 'someday' could have waited a little while longer.  

* * *

 

Stepping through the barrier at Platform nine and three-quarters was a little disorienting.  After a month in the muggle world, it was both strange and exciting to be around so much magic again. The shining red steam engine was beautiful in the morning light, and between him and it, dozens of brightly dressed parents and children rushed around with their carts.  

Harry moved just in time to avoid being run over by the boy who'd been standing with his family on the other side.  

"Cutting it close there, Harry," a familiar voice said, and Harry turned to see Remus and Lyall standing near Neville and his grandmother.  

Beaming, Harry pushed his cart over and gave Remus a hug.  

"Dudley took ages to get ready. I've been up since five," Harry said.  "'lo Mrs. Longbottom. Neville, did you bring your garden pictures?"  

"Yeah, I packed them first thing so I wouldn't forget," Neville replied. His grandmother gave an approving nod.  

Lyall looked up over Harry's head, and Harry turned, noting the clock.  

"You two'd best be off, or you'll miss it," Lyall pointed out and Harry. Distantly, Harry heard his name and turned to see one of the twins from earlier pointing him out. Harry nodded and gave a small wave to the family that had advised him on getting through the barrier, before turning back to Lyall.  

"Could you feather-weight the trunk?" He asked. "I can't lift it myself." 

Lyall ruffled Harry's already untidy hair and pulled out his wand.  

Remus took the moment to lean down and put his hands on Harry's shoulders.  

"You'll do us all proud," Remus said, "no matter what house you end up in. It's been a joy and a gift to watch you grow up."  

"I'm not done yet," Harry said. "I'm only eleven." 

"Just so," Remus said. "We're never really done growing up though. Have a nice trip. I'll expect your owl within the week."  

Harry nodded to Remus, clasped hands quickly with Lyall, and darted off to get on the train with Neville. They found a compartment quickly and stowed their things. They sat down in time to wave to the crowd as the train began to move.  

He watched them fall away; Remus, who'd shown him a world, Lyall, who'd been among the first to welcome him to it, Neville's gran, and the peculiar but kind red-haired woman and her daughter, all remained behind as the train surged out of the station.  

As they rolled through the city on their way out into the countryside, Neville opened his trunk and pulled out a container and an envelope. Taking the cue, Harry pulled out the folder with his pictures.  

"Harry," Neville said, sitting down and opening the container. "Meet my toad, Trevor."  

"You wrote about him!" Harry said, looking into the container. "Does he really disappear?"  

"Yeah," Neville said morosely. "Think my uncle picked him as a joke. Loads of other ones jump really high, or turn cool colors, or croak songs. Trevor just hides, but I wouldn't give him up for the world."  

"Course not," Harry said. "Hedwig's the first pet I've had, unless you count garden snakes I spent a day or two with, and it’s already odd to think she hasn’t always been with me."  

"She's brilliant," Neville replied. "Gran likes her better than some  _people._  Now out with it, I want to see. Is it all a muggle garden, or do you have magic plants as well?"  

Harry pulled the pictures from his folder and spread them out.  

"Blackthorn Hedges round the back, see?" Harry pointed out.  

"Blackthorn's in some wands! How do get your roses so big?" Neville asked. He spread out his pictures next to Harry's.  "Gran's not a big fan of flowers, but she didn't want me messing about with a lot of magical plants till school, so I've tried with them but yours are stunning."  

"My grandmother made a study of them," Harry said, proud. "I got cuttings from their garden before I went to stay with my aunt. What are those in that big pot? I haven't seen leaves like that."  

"Silver birch, just starting, and there are bowtruckles in it!" Neville said.  

The two talked for a while before Harry looked over at the open toad container.  

"Neville, is Trevor still in there?" Harry asked. He looked around as Neville jumped up and put a hand into the container.  

"Oh no!" Neville cried, "Not again."  

A movement near the open compartment door drew Harry's eyes and, for the first time, he saw Trevor, now visible, and green, and smallish, as he darted down the corridor. Harry and Neville tossed their pictures into their trunks and dashed off after the Toad.  

* * *

Of course this was happening today. Neville groaned internally as he and Harry ran down the corridor, chasing after Trevor. His first real time hanging out with a friend, and Harry Potter of all people, and Trevor was loose. Why not?  

He and Harry split up, asking in compartments with open doors if anyone had seen a toad.  

In the third open one, a girl with dark skin, darker than Harry's even, and masses of brown curly hair was reading a book.  

"Hello, have you seen or heard a toad hopping around?" Harry asked. "He's sometimes invisible, but hard to miss when he's not."  

The girl looked at Harry hard for minute before asking, "Harry Potter?"  

"Well, the toad's name is Trevor," Harry said, and Neville laughed.  

"Yeah, I'm Harry," Harry told her. "This is Neville Longbottom. If you want to help us look, we can talk."  

"Ok, I'm Hermione Granger," she said, standing and walking into the corridor with them," just found out about all this a few months ago, but I know all about you, both of you! You're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Harry, you're also in Great Wizarding Events Of the 20th Century. "  

Neville flinched and looked down. He hadn't read those books, but he had a pretty good idea of what she knew. Probably, she knew more than his parents did. He hoped so anyway.  He hoped that the kind woman who gave him candy wrappers, bits of paper, and dull quills couldn't remember how she got that way.   

"That's hardly 'all about ' us. I was really little when anything about me in those books was written," Harry said. Neville moved to ask after Trevor in the next compartment down, but he couldn’t help listening.  Harry sounded matter-of-fact in a way than Neville wasn’t sure he could have managed. "Most of my life hadn't even happened yet.  And those books always focus on my dad, like my mother's family didn't count or like the only thing she ever did was marry, have me, and die. The section on Grindelwald in 'Rise and Fall' seemed pretty good though, even if it seems like it's missing bits too."  

  Hermione was quiet for a while, but she walked along with them and helped them look.  

Several compartments down, she said, "I'm sorry, that was a bit rude. I've never really met people that I've read about before.  Do you know what house you'll be in? Or you Neville?"  

"Gryffindor," Neville said, accepting the peace offering for what it was. "I want to be anyway. Gran has been giving me 'it's ok if you're in Hufflepuff' speeches since I turned ten, but I hope I get Gryffindor."  

 "Me too," Hermione said. "Ravenclaw would be alright though, I suppose. Harry?"  

"I don't know," Harry said. "I'll be studying loads; I still plan to take my muggle exams, and my aunt is going to send me things for that.  I like having friends, I'm not very shy, but my...my friend tells me it's about reasons? It's confusing. I guess I'll find out tonight."  

"You went to a muggle school?" Hermione asked.  

Neville found himself having a conversation about how schooling worked for pureblood families, and how it compared to what Harry and Hermione had done.  He found it less interesting than the gardening discussion with Harry before, but it was easy to talk about while looking for Trevor.  

Eventually they came to a compartment with just one red-haired boy staring out at the passing landscape.  

"Ron?" Harry said, and the boy looked startled.  

"You remembered?" The boy said back.  

"Of course," Harry said. "Your mum seems really nice. Have you seen a-" Harry stopped short as Trevor made himself visible again, on the table next to Ron's half-eaten sandwich and sleeping rat.  

Neville grabbed hold of him and put him back in his container, closing the lid firmly.  

Then the snack cart came through. Harry bought Bertie Botts and Chocolate frogs for all of them, to celebrate, before turning to Ron.  

"Sorry about this," he said, "but room for three more?"   

* * *

 

Ron laughed and waved them in.  

"Nothing to be sorry for. Thanks for the sweets. Are you really-" Ron asked, trailing off. 

"Harry Potter?" The dark haired, green eyed boy said. "Yeah, most of the time. My friends here are Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger."  

Ron noticed Granger's surprise at being called a friend, and Harry must have too, because he looked apologetic, but she smiled and they both relaxed. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, and Ron tried very hard not to stare at the scar on his face. 

"Do you remember anything from it?" Ron asked.  Neville's eyes went wide, and Ron belatedly remembered that it Wasn't Done to ask people questions about where they'd been or what they'd been doing in the war.  Harry didn't seem angry though.   

"I think I remember green light sometimes, but not really anything else. I was a baby," Harry pointed out. "Do you remember the end of the war?"  

Ron shook his head and reached for his Chocolate frog and the others sat down and did the same. Harry sat next to him and across from Neville and Hermione.  Harry's card had Dumbledore on it, and Ron had been planning to ask to trade but Hermione hadn't known about the cards. She found them so interesting that the three boys gave their cards to her, to start her collection.  

The conversation woke his rat. "This is Scabbers," Ron introduced. "Tried to turn him yellow earlier but it didn't really work."  

Ron wondered what they'd make of him, his lazy, hand-me-down pet. Scabbers was a decent enough little guy, banged up, but easy to care for, and he rarely bit anyone who wasn't being a git to him. The rat looked around at them, red eyes bored until he seemed to notice Harry. Ron blinked as Scabbers sort of froze, moved towards Harry, and then turned darted to curl up in Ron's lap. He hid his head under the hem of Ron’s shirt.  

"Don't know what got into him," Ron said.   

"Too many people?" Hermione asked.  

Ron laughed aloud, but a harsh snicker in the doorway made him stop and turn. There was a blond boy in the doorway.  

"I doubt that's a problem for that rat," he sneered. "With hair like that and those freckles, you'll be a Weasley. There's what, twenty of you lot?"   

Ron would have punched him but he'd have had to move around Harry to do it.  

"I'd heard you were walking about with a muggle and a squib," Malfoy said focusing on Harry. Behind him, two boys were trying to shove through the doorway at the same time and failing. It seemed Harry had been looking too, as Malfoy introduced Crabbe and Goyle before continuing.  

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, extending his hand. "You seem to have fallen in with some rather... interesting people. I imagine it's rather easy to go astray in the excitement of a day like today but, of course, some wizarding families have rather more to offer than others. Let me show you around, help you find the right sort of friends."  

Ron looked at the back of Harry's head, and he noticed Neville looking somewhat intently as well.  Their eyes met briefly before turning back to Harry and Malfoy.  

"We've met," Harry said briefly. "I don't blame you for forgetting, easy to 'go astray' like you said. I think I'll be able to find my own friends. " 

 Malfoy pulled his hand back as if stung.  

Ron felt himself grinning.   

"You'd do well to be a bit politer," Malfoy sneered. "Who knows, if your parents had chosen better company you might still have them." 

"Yours would never have looked twice at my mum," Harry shot back, "and my father had friends with more to offer him. I think you should leave."  

"Or what," Malfoy said, "You'll fight us?"  

"And we'll win," Hermione said, pulling out her wand. "I've read all of our textbooks. Get out or you'll be in the infirmary you’re first night at school." 

Malfoy’s eyes widened and he took a step back, surprised. Harry took the opportunity and shut the door in his face, sliding it closed with a snap.  

For a moment, the four of them just looked at each other, then Ron felt laughter explode out of him in a triumphant surge, soon joined by the others.  

"That was bloody brilliant, Hermione!" Ron said when they'd calmed down a little. "Could you really hex him?"  

"Maybe," Hermione grinned. "Everything I tried at home worked out ok, though of course I never hexed anyone. That'll teach him to call me a muggle."  

"Bet it will," Neville said quietly. He looked sad about something, but Ron didn't think he could ask about it. What'd Malfoy meant anyway, calling him a squib? 

Changing the subject, Ron said, "There's only seven of us, by the way. Nine Weasleys if you count my parents. My dad's sisters all got married right out of Hogwarts.  Just four of us at school now, till next year when Ginny comes." 

"So two of them have graduated?" Hermione asked. "What do they do?"  

"Charlie, the oldest, works with dragons in Romania," Ron replied, "Bill's a curse breaker for Gringotts" 

"Was he there during the break in?" Neville asked.  

Ron shook his head, but then found himself explaining about the idiot who'd been stupid enough to try and bust their way into a vault that had been emptied earlier.  

After that, they started in on their every-flavor beans, eating and laughing together for a while before Hermione pointed out that they should be arriving soon. Ron changed while the others waited in the corridor, then he walked back up the train with them to wait and talk while the others got dressed.  

On the way, they passed the twins, who gave him a pat on the back and wished him luck with the troll he'd have to best to be sorted.  

Ron rolled his eyes, and then sighed as he was subjected to an annoyed rant from Hermione about the silliness of _Hogwarts_ _:_ _a_ _H_ _istory_  not stating how they would be sorted out of some "bizarre, outdated, notion of tradition".  

* * *

 

Harry felt almost relieved as the train began to slow. He and Neville had just gotten their robes on straight, when, through the door, they'd heard the beginnings of an argument.  

"How was I supposed to know most spells don't rhyme?" Ron groused loudly in the corridor.  

"Your whole family is magic," Hermione replied, very slowly as if Ron mightn't otherwise understand.  

"That doesn't mean I know everything, " Ron said louder. "maybe beginner spells are different."  

"And I'm sure 'beginner spells' usually call their objects stupid and fat too, right?" Hermione asked, sounding tired and a little frustrated.  

"Know-it-all!" Ron said.  

"Half-wit!" Hermione returned.  

Harry was just about to open the door when the train stopped with a jolt. The corridors filled and the argument was set aside as Ron slid the door open waved and Harry and Neville out to join the crowd.  Together, they stepped out into the cold night air as a voice, somehow audible over everything else, told them to leave their luggage, which would be retrieved and taken down separately.   

The train platform was dark and already some of the older students had lit wands and were strolling confidently over to a series of horseless carriages.  

A booming, familiar voice called out, "FIRS' YEARS! Over here!"   

Harry looked away from the older students and saw Hagrid walking towards them with a lantern.  

"Good to see you Harry! Firs' years, follow me. Got a bit of a walk, then you're in for a real treat. Stay together, and stay with me, Firs' Years!"   

The crowd around them grew, swelling to what seemed like at least a fifty other boys and girls around Harry's age before Hagrid led them down a sharp slop, through what seemed like miles of woods, until they came to a vast lake, and the most beautiful place Harry had ever seen in person.  

Distantly he heard Hagrid directing them, four to a boat, and he walked with his friends to do as he said, but his eyes were fixed up and ahead. The castle, glowing and warm, seemed alive as it perched on the mountain. Bathed in starlight from the sky and the reflection in the lake, Harry couldn't see all of its turrets and walls but what he could see glowed faintly, and stole the breath from his lungs. This was the place where his parents had fallen in love, where Remus had found friends who'd helped him when he was sick, where Lyall had learned the spell that had impressed Remus's mum. Somewhere in there, his mother had cast firebirds.  

He'd wondered, days and years before, when he'd heard stories about the school, how a place could be so much to so many people.  

He didn't wonder anymore. That place on the mountain could be anything, could be everything, and Harry would never doubt it again.  

The boats glided across the surface of the water smoothly, slipping into the cliffside, through an ivy curtained tunnel and into the hidden harbor.  

Harry and the other first years followed Hagrid up an ancient stone staircase and waited, breathless, as he knocked on the door of the castle.  

The door swung open, revealing a tall, dark haired woman with emerald robes and a severe expression. Behind her an impossibly large entrance hall stretched further back than he could seem in the candlelight.  

"All here and ready for sorting, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.  

"Just so," the professor replied. "Children, follow me."   

It occurred to Harry suddenly, that somewhere, maybe not even very far away, people like his aunt and cousin were sitting down to dinner and watching television in living rooms with still pictures on their walls.  Somewhere his uncle was probably talking to Dudley's Aunt Marge, who'd driven up that day to see Dudley and help Aunt Petunia pack up his school things.  Even the thought seemed out of place. He felt very far away from them as he stepped into the castle.  

Hermione was tense beside him, and Harry wondered if she was feeling the same way.  

Professor McGonagall, his parents' and Remus's head of house if he was remembering right, led them into a small room off the hall. She explained about the houses, and told them that they were going to be sorted and join their house at their table in the great hall.  

The First years took a moment to try and straighten themselves up and soon they were being led into the great hall.  

It was as if they’d walked into a courtyard. More candles that Harry had ever seen in one place floated above them, just barely succeeding in creating a warm pocket of light beneath the vast and endless  sky. The enchanted ceiling was brilliant, but Harry found that every eye in the room was on a battered, old hat sitting on a stool.  

Harry had never actually seen a proper wizard pull a rabbit from a hat, but what else would they do with it? At least it didn’t seem like he’d have to fight something.  

The silence had grown almost unsettling when a rip near the brim opened, and the hat began to sing. Harry listened carefully. Where did he think he fit? If the hat could really see inside his head, wouldn’t it know?  

As “Abbot, Hannah” was sorted into Hufflepuff, Harry felt Neville tense beside him. He nudged the other boy with his shoulder and tried to give him a reassuring smile. It worked for an instant but then "Bones, Susan" being sorted into Hufflepuff had him tensing up again. They seemed like a good lot as they cheered for their newest members. The ghost over their table smiled happily.   

"Boot, Terry" being sorted into Ravenclaw drew Harry's eyes to their table.  There were books in between the plates and goblets, and some people stood to shake Boot's hand.   

When "Crabbe, Vincent" was placed in Slytherin there was some applause but also rather a few bored waves. Crabbe knew exactly where to sit down, and he left room on his right for two other places.  His certainty made Harry feel envious for just a moment, but Harry thought back to what Malfoy had said on the train. He didn't need that kind of certainty if it meant having to be like him.  

"Granger, Hermione" got her preferred house almost as quickly as the hat could be placed on her head.  She seemed elated as she rushed to take a seat in Gryffindor. Ron sighed heavily, but Harry couldn't help but be happy for her. She wasn't, apparently, great at first impressions but she was smart, and she'd really come through with Malfoy on the train.  

Neville would be the next of his friends to be sorted, and suddenly Harry felt nervous. What if he ended up in Slytherin with Malfoy and his friends. What if he wasn't enough of anything to fit anywhere? Dudley had said he was welcome at Smeltings, but his aunt and uncle had done paperwork for weeks to get  Dudley a place. Probably, if he couldn't make it work, he'd be at Stonewall- the local secondary school that looked rather like a prison. Harry's whole life practically had been bending towards coming to Hogwarts. How could he face Remus if he failed now before even starting a class?  

"Li, Sue" went up, and she sat with the hat on her head for nearly a minute. Harry tried to remind himself that if there was a chance of not being sorted, someone would have said something by now. If nothing else, Remus and Lyall would have encouraged him to be braver, or smarter, or something, just to make certain that he'd get in.   

The hat announced that Li would be a Ravenclaw, and there was a smug sort of quirk to her mouth as she made her way over to them, as if she'd won an argument. 

"Longbottom, Neville" was called and Harry gave him a pat on the back, like Harry's grandmother used to do when he was upset. The gesture seemed to settle Neville a little and he caught himself when he nearly tripped on his way up to the stool.   

Harry tensed in anticipation as the hat took longer with Neville than it had with any of the other students. Neville’s face was hidden in the wide brim, but his body seemed no more tense than he’d been when he first sat on the stool.  

Just when Harry was starting to wonder again as to the fate of impossible-to-sort students, the hat called out “Gryffindor” and Neville ran towards his newly assigned table. He seemed relieved and unbothered by the laughter that sprang up when he walked back to return the sorting hat. 

There were other names, but they seemed to fly over Harry’s head as his heart began to beat faster.  

Finally, Professor Mcgonagall called out his name.  

He registered the whispers that followed almost before he understood that he’d been called. His name and words like “scar” and “you-know-who” moved around and through the room in a rush as Harry walked up to the stool. The sound didn’t fall away until the professor put the sorting hat on his head and everything seemed to go still and quiet.  

“Difficult, very difficult,” a small voice in his ear intoned. “Brave, goodness yes, and very clever. True to a fault, but I see the hunger in you. So much family, but still you thirst to belong, to be worthy….where shall I put you?” 

Suddenly, Harry knew where he most wanted to be.  

“With my friends, in Gryffindor,” he whispered. He didn’t want to slide into place next to Malfoy, who’d looked at him and decided his worth in an instant. If he’d wanted to belong, he’d wanted it for too long to have it tossed into his hand like a toy at his turn. “Not Slytherin, Not now. Put me with my friends.” 

“Not Slytherin? But they could see your worth; could help you make it known to all. Who could cast you aside then?” 

Harry shook his head. What was he going on about? He’d made his choice, and he moved to tell the hat as much when it spoke again. 

“but who is this I see, this Juney? In Hufflepuff you’d be as safe and free as he was. They would work with you, accept you, defend you. You’d have a place there that nothing could touch.” 

“Put me with my friends,” Harry insisted, growing frustrated. “I’m Harry, not Juney. If you see me, then you know that. Maybe if I hadn’t met them or if Neville… but I know where I need to go.” 

“And so do I,  better be GRYFFINDOR!” 

The roar of cheers from Gryffindor house tables nearly deafened them all as Harry walked over to sit beside Hermione, and across from Neville. He felt hungry and tired as if his argument with the sorting hat had taken hours.  

From his place at the Gryffindor table he could see the Hufflepuff one and he wondered if he’d been right to choose people he’d known for hours over the prospect of at least seven years’ safety and belonging.  

It didn’t matter, in the end. He’d decided, and clearly his friends were pleased with his choice. When Ron joined them, his contentment helped Harry forget his concerns.  

“Took the hat forever with you two,” Ron said, sitting next to Neville. “What’d you talk about? Quidditch scores?”  

Harry shrugged and gave “Zabini, Blaise” his attention as, last in their year, he was sorted into Slytherin.  

The Headmaster,  Albus Dumbledore stood and said his few, odd, words, and soon after, the welcoming feast began.  Harry ate his fill and met some of the others who’d been sorted into Gryffindor. He was greeted by the nearly-headless house ghost, and he and Hermione agreed to talk about his muggle study regime at some point in the near future.  The gryffindors laughed together over talk of their families.  

Tired, full and happy, Harry turned towards the Hight table, and looked at the professors. His eyes fell on one wearing a turban, and he found himself looking into the dark eyes of the man sitting next to him. There was a sharp, burning pain in his scar and his hand moved toward his forehead of its own volition. The move caught the attention of one of Ron’s older brothers.  

“You alright?” Percy asked.  

Harry nodded, planning to ask Remus what he knew about curse scars, but then stopped. He knew that face, he realized, taking a second look at the dark haired, hook nosed man sitting beside the fellow with the turban.  He’d seen it in some of the pictures of his mother when she was a girl.  

“Who’s that? Next to the one with the turban?” Harry asked.  

“That’s Professor Snape,” Percy told him, “and that’s professor Quirrell next to him. He subbed in near the end of the year, before last year’s Defense teacher left. Poor guy, Snape wants his job. Knows loads about the Dark arts, Snape does.”  

Harry added another thing to his list of things to write home about as Dumbledore stood and gave his start of term speech.  Professors Snape didn’t so much as glance in his direction for the rest of the evening.  

* * *

 

Harry might have been rather disconcerted to find that, though the Potions master didn’t look at him again, he thought of him rather a lot.   

Up at the High Table, Severus Snape was concealing the shock of having met the eyes of his first and best friend for the first time in several years. The fact that those eyes were set into a face that he could happily have gone several thousand years without seeing again was a matter to be brooded over later, with firewhiskey, and possibly a sleeping draught.  

He’d wondered if the boy would be different. When the sorting hat had hesitated, he’d feared for a moment that the boy would be foisted off on him, but no, he would go to Gryffindor and be Minerva’s problem. The natural order of the universe was preserved. 

 Just as well.  

To fail Lil-, to fail Evan-, To fail Her a third time did not bear imagining, and if Potter had come directly into his care he could only have failed him. As it was, all he need do was keep an eye out for particularly foolish Gryffindor antics, and, as head of Slytherin in a school where those two houses were most likely to direct idiotic actions towards each other, that was an unwritten part of his job description.  

As Dumbledore made his round of warnings and instructions, ones that he’d been over with the staff in the days and weeks before, Severus thought back to the few times he’d glimpsed the boy over the years.   

He hadn’t often returned to Spinner’s End in the last few years. When he had gone back, to check on the house, or rest between trips to gather ingredients during the summer, he’d occasionally allowed himself to visit the park where he’d first met Her.   

He'd seen them there, the boy and Her parents, once or twice.  The Dark Lord had betrayed him to get at that boy. Lily had died for him, and Snape had never been able to set eyes on him without remembering that.  He’d thought of it when Harry was a toddling thing, shrieking to his grandfather, and he remembered it as the eleven-year-old ate at Gryffindor table.  

The Dark Lord would never have sought Lily Evans as fiercely if not for that boy and if not for James Potter who’d helped, with his persistent defiance of The Dark Lord, to create the child that they were told could defeat him. He hated them for it. He hated them beyond all reason, and he didn’t care if it was petty, or futile, or short-sighted.   

When he thought of whom he held more responsible, of who had ensured that The Dark Lord had learned of the prophesy in the first place and in the process insured the utter damnation of what remained of his feeble, unworthy soul, there could only be one person.  

Severus hated him most of all. 

Protecting the brat was his only way to move towards atonement and pay his last debt to the bastard who’d ruined his life, but even if he saved the brat a thousand times, he could never be forgiven, and the knowledge had been eating away at him for nearly ten years.   

When the students were dismissed to bed, Severus took his dark thoughts to the dungeons, and his rooms.  

It was going to be a long seven years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback after last chapter, Kudos and brilliant, insightful, comments both, I couldn't have done this chapter without them, and it probably would have taken weeks longer if I had somehow managed. You guys are awesome.
> 
> I did pull some lines/phrasing from the text, though i tried to paraphase when possible, so if it looks like it's from the books it likely is, and I give JK all due credit. 
> 
> Sorting Harry in this verse was trickier than I'd have figured and I'm still tempted to do a one shot or something later with a gloss of what hufflepuff!harry would have been like, but that'd be an AU of an AU and I'd rather like to avoid that for the moment (unless you lot want it, I have poor impulse control). Next chapter should get us well into the start of term. I never wanted this to be a chapter by chapter re-do of the books so probably some time time jumping as well. Let me know how I did this chapter please, you've been ubelievably generous with your time but I would like to know if this worked for people.  
> Been having internet issues, so probably looking at another couple of weeks to a month for the next chapter. Happy 4th of July to my fellow Americans (the country is flawed but cookouts are fun, and the day off work is how this got finished today), and I look forward to hearing what you think of this.


	5. Chapter 5

Petunia Dursley woke on the first Thursday in September and lay still, listening to the sounds in her home. Vernon snored lightly beside her and she heard the hum of appliances.

Outside, the early morning traffic whispered by as night workers drove sleepily home and early risers passed them on the way out into the wider world. She’d thought of Privet Drive that way since the boys were very small. There was Privet Drive, and then there was the world, vast and perilous. 

It made her heart beat uncomfortably fast to think that those boys, Dudley and Harry, were out in that wider world without her now.  Smeltings and Hogwarts were meant to be their own small, safe annexes, she knew. She also knew that if intention dictated reality, her sister’s letters would have had fewer tear stains, and the friends she’d brought home for parts of breaks would have seemed less haunted. That didn’t even begin to address the ways that boys schools hardened their charges. They’d had to go though. Her son needed the connections he’d make at school and the power of the Smeltings name associated with his own to propel him into his future. Harry needed to learn what his parents had known and more- needed to claim his inheritance and to be among people like himself. They’d needed to go, but Petunia could hear the silence where their movements and diversions should be. Her family had started to change once more and the coming years would begin to prepare them all for the day when the boys she’d helped to raise would have homes of their own, and the shuffle of their feet in her halls would be a memory. 

Craving the sight of those lost to her, and tired of her maudlin thoughts, Petunia sat up. She rubbed Vernon’s arm to begin to wake him and gave him a kiss before standing and going to prepare for the day. Then she went down to the kitchen and was startled by the sight of two enormous eyes peering in on her from the kitchen window. 

Hedwig nearly glowed in the fading dark as the sun prepared to rise. Petunia let her in, looking around for neighbors or signs that anyone was watching. There was a packet attached to Hedwig’s leg, and the bird presented it to her with no small amount of dignity. 

“Thank you,” Petunia said awkwardly, taking the large envelope before filling the bowl that Harry had left under the sink to allow Hedwig to drink some water. Flecks of blood on the envelope were sign enough that the bird had eaten along the way, though there was a bag of owl treats for her next to where the bowl had been. Petunia sat a couple on the windowsill next to the bowl, and opened the packet. Inside was a letter for herself and Vernon, in quill and parchment, and pen and paper letters with stamps for Dudley and his friends from Cokeworth. Opening the letter addressed to her  and Vernon, she began to read.

> “Dear Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, 
> 
> I’m writing to let you know that I’m at school and I’m ok. I waited till today to write so I could tell you about my first day. I hope you weren’t too worried. I figured you’d be busy, Since Dudley leaves tomorrow (yesterday, when you read this?). Anyway, Hogwarts is awesome. It’s like Remus said, a real magic castle.  It’s old, really old, and the castle was made to be hard to take from the inside as much as it keeps dangerous things out. You have to get to know the school, like really get to know it before it’s easy to get anywhere. I get lost a lot. 
> 
> There are disappearing steps in the staircases, and ones that scream or are only sometimes solid. The portraits visit each other, which makes them terrible landmarks, and lots of the doors aren’t actually doors, and some of the portraits are doors…. It’s all very weird. I love it. 
> 
> I got sorted into Gryffindor, house of the brave, like Mum and Dad. Neville did too, and my new friends, Ron- the red-headed boy from the train station, remember?- and Hermione, who I met on the train. Hermione’s parents are muggles and she wants to know more about my “homeschool” plans. She’s a year ahead of me, her birthday is late in the year, and you have to be eleven to go to Hogwarts, but she’s helped me study. After I finish this, we’re going to get a prefect to show us how to get to the library here. Maybe in the library people will stop staring and whispering. It’s weird and not fun, but I guess it’s about the same as it was in Diagon Alley. 
> 
> So far I’ve been to Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and History of Magic. History and Defense were kind of boring classes, but should be fun to read up on.  Transfiguration is taught by our head of house and she can turn into a cat! I stayed after, to ask about what I could do to stop the staring. She said if it interferes with my work I can talk to her about it, but for now to just wait it out. There are charms, but those could be unsafe if cast improperly, or if I fell through a step and no one could pay enough attention to help me.  Later in the week, I have Potions, Herbology, and Astronomy.
> 
> Oh! The Potion’s professor was Mum’s friend I think, his name is “Snape”. He’s older, but it’s him, right? Did you know him? He’s not in any of the pictures once Mum got to school; not that I’ve seen. Why? 
> 
> I hope you’re doing well. Are you? Has Remus checked in with you? I sent him a letter and I'm not sure which Hedwig will drop off first.  Did Dudley and Piers get to school ok? I have to go now, but I miss you and I look forward to hearing from you soon. Please mail my letters to Dudley and my Cokeworth friends, and remind Hedwig to pick up a reply from Remus, if she hasn’t already. I want to save Natalis a trip. She's getting old. 
> 
> Thank you, and Have a good day, 
> 
> Harry 
> 
> PS.Look in the Envelope again. 

Petunia looked again and, sellotaped inside was a picture of Harry with three other children, dressed in black robes with red and yellow ties. They waved. Harry looked happy. Petunia  put the picture aside to show Vernon later, but part of her was shaken. 

Severus Snape was alive, and Harry’s potions teacher. Hadn’t he gone dark? What was Dumbledore thinking? She thought about writing to the old man, but she remembered the polite, awful response she’d gotten when she’d written to him before Lily left for school and thought better of it. Remus and his father would know more about this than Albus Dumbledore would tell her. Hedwig would have more than one letter to deliver when she left Privet Drive. 

* * *

 

 At Hogwarts, just as Hedwig was being met at Remus Lupin’s window a great distance away, Harry Potter was refolding a note from  Hagrid. He and his friends had been invited to have tea with him after their last class. 

“That’s quite nice of him,” Hermione said, smiling. “ I wish we could bring something.” 

“I could make something if I knew where the kitchens were,” Harry said. Ron shrugged at that. 

“I doubt the house elves would let you cook anything here. Anyway, it’s this evening,” Ron pointed out, “You might not live long enough to get there if you’re still on about talking to Snape.” 

“He’s a teacher, not a troll,” Harry argued, not for the first time. “None of the others have been terrible.” 

“That doesn’t mean he won’t be,” Ron said. “What’s it matter if he knew your mum?” 

“I need to know,” Harry said stubbornly. “It’s not just my mum, he’d have known my grandparents. I didn’t think they knew and adult wizards besides Remus and his father. And he might have gone to the same school I did  and loads of other things.” 

Ron shook his head, and Neville looked down at his plate. 

“Maybe do it after class instead of before? Or later in the year?” Hermione suggested. 

Harry shook his head. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered waiting, he had, but the answers he wanted were right there. He found himself worrying about the dark, brief glances the professor sent his way. He needed to try and make things right from the start. 

Moments later they were walking down to the Dungeons, a few minutes early to give him time. Ron was still up in the great hall, he’d moved to sit with Dean and Seamus, wanting to eat a bit more. He’d offered what support he could as the other three stood to leave. (“Careful, Mum asked about you in her letter, mate. I’d hate to have to tell her that you didn’t last the first week.”)

“Are you sure you wanna do this, Harry?” Neville asked as they drew close to the classroom. “He didn’t look like the nice and forgiving sort, and you saw what the Hufflepuffs looked like after  _their_  double session with him.” 

“I haven’t done anything,” Harry said practically. “If my mum did, if he treats me some way because he was mad at her or friends with her… it wouldn’t be the first time. And I could be wrong about it, he could have a brother or cousin or something, or an identical stranger, like in a book. At least I’ll know. Wait outside when I go in? Just in case.”

“He’s a professor, Neville,” Hermione pointed out. “Harry will be perfectly safe.” 

Neville didn’t seem at all convinced. 

When they reached the classroom, Harry knocked and walked in. 

Professor Snape looked up from his desk. His eyes narrowed as he identified the source of the intrusion. 

“You’re early, Potter,” the professor sneered. “An historical event, I’m certain.  Wait in the corridor and do try not to sprain something signing autographs before class.” 

Stung by the unexpected shot, Harry moved to do as he’d been told but then paused. He’d  thought about what he might say. He’d planned at least five polite lead-ins but, in the end, he found himself blurting out his question. 

“Did you know my mother?” he asked in a rush. 

A flash of rage like a flaming sword lit Professor Snape’s face, all steel, and burning threat. Then it passed and Harry felt colder as the professor stood and moved to loom over him. 

“Consider the size of your first-year class,” Snape growled. “Mine was no larger. A lot of people knew your mother. If I have any reason to believe that you are spreading rumors, you will be in detention for every evening it is in my power to assign it to you. Do. Not. Test me, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor.” 

Harry felt his eyes widen  as he stepped back again. Ten points for asking a question, albeit a personal one. This was not like it’d been with his aunt when he was small. This was something else, sharper somehow, and more dangerous. Keeping his eyes low he turned at walked back to the corridor. 

Ron had arrived and he, Hermione, and Neville gathered close when the door closed behind him. 

“Well?” Neville said anxiously. 

Harry just shook his head. He needed to hear from Remus and his aunt, and he needed to steer  clear of Severus Snape until then. 

* * *

 

Neville watched Harry as they waited for class to start. He was certainly more quiet than he’d been before. It was a worrying change and Neville moved closer to him in silent support as other students began to gather. 

When the door to the classroom opened Harry steered them to a table near the back. Hermione and Ron sat a row ahead of them. Neville watched Snape from the moment he entered the room. Peripherally, he noted the low stone walls with their sconces glowing green and the shelves with their ominous glass jars. How were they going to make it through seven years of this? How were they going to make it through the hour?

When they were settled, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, Professor Snape read down the roll. He lingered longer on some names than others; glancing up from the scroll to match names to faces. The look he gave Neville when he came to him was chilling. Was it because Neville was friends with Harry?  Neville tensed when Harry’s name approached, and the professor paused on it, glaring balefully. Time stretched out, and Neville watched as Harry seemed to shrink into the wood and stone of the table, chair, and floor.  Who was Professor Snape, to make the boy who’d strode up to Neville in Diagon Alley shrink down so much? The moment passed, and when the roll call ended Snape gave a speech about “brewing fame” and “bottling glory”. 

Neville had almost begun to relax when Snape turned his eyes toward them. 

“Longbottom!” He snapped suddenly, “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” 

Neville nearly fell from his seat as he straightened up and looked at the professor. The tall man sneered and raised an eyebrow. Just as he was about to speak again, Neville remembered. Asphodel and wormwood. 

“Death?” he blurted. “living death?” 

Snape froze for a moment before his mouth curled into a cruel sneer. 

“The draught of living death. I suppose you would know that. You have spent quite a lot of time in St. Mungos,” he said darkly, “Haven’t you?” 

Any satisfaction that Neville might have had died in that moment. The world seemed to go grey and distant. He’d said that in front of all of the first years in Gryffindor and Slytherin. Half of their year would be asking questions, and soon enough they’d  _know_. 

“Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” 

Neville knew, of course he knew, but Snape was looking at them and rather a lot of their classmates were still looking at Neville and- 

“An apothecary, sir?” Harry answered. 

Dean Thomas snickered only to be silenced with a look. 

“That answer is insufficient, Potter.” Snape said, there was a false gentleness in his tone that set Neville’s teeth on edge, “Clearly fame isn’t everything.  Perhaps an easier question for our celebrity?” 

Several Slytherins laughed and Neville wanted to reach out to his friend but people were still looking and wondering. Part of him could already hear the taunts about his mother and father. They’d been heroes once, his family had all said, but now they couldn’t even remember him. Now they’d never save anyone, or fight anyone, or protect anyone, ever again.

Harry straightened next to him. 

“What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” Snape asked, slow and condescending, as if talking to a three-year-old. 

“Just the names,” Harry replied. “They’re the same, and they have another name, right? Aconite, sir? It’s poisonous.” 

“Thank you for enlightening us. Perhaps you’d like to teach the class instead? Put your hand down, Granger!” Snape growled and stormed back towards the front of the room, scolding the class for not taking notes. Neville risked a glance at Ron and Hermione. Both looked as pale as he felt, though Ron’s face was going red. He was gripping his quill so tightly that Neville thought he might break it.

Harry took the lead in making the potion, and their work was passable. Neville nearly collapsed in relief when the professor graded their potion and only marked them down a bit for it being a shade too pale. They’d not used enough porcupine quills apparently. 

Neville was among the first out of the classroom when Professor Snape dismissed them. He didn’t know if anyone would ask him about what Snape had said, but maybe fewer would if he could just avoid most of them until after dinner. He was half-way out of the dungeons before the others caught up with him. 

“Wait up, Neville,” Harry called, breathless as he took the stairs. “Are you alright?” 

Neville turned to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione running towards him, and he smiled weakly.  _Oh_ _!_ he thought.  _Yes, right, my friends._ It was a new thought, but such a good one that he almost forgot he’d been planning to avoid them. 

“Don’t ask about what he said,” Neville blurted. His feet felt unsteady on the stairs, his knees a bit dodgy too, and he looked down to check on them. “I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want anyone talking about it.”

“Then we won’t, mate,” Ron said stepping forward and clasping his shoulder. 

“Most of the class will just think you’re really clumsy,” Hermione added.

“Or really brave,” Harry said, giving Hermione a look before focusing on Neville . “I have a friend in Cokeworth who ended up in the A&E three times in one month cause she kept climbing things to see if she could. Broke an ankle twice and sprained her wrist, but she still talks about the views.” 

Neville shrugged. He looked at Ron, and Ron mirrored the gesture. What was an A and E? A hospital? The girl Harry described sounded more than a bit daft too, but Harry and Hermione looked so hopeful that Neville nodded and tried to relax.

 He had friends who wanted to help him. That was more than he’d had just a couple of weeks ago. He’d told them not to ask and they wouldn’t. That was important. Neville felt his smile soften into something more natural as the weight lifted from his chest. 

He followed the group as they finished the walk up the stairs and back to the corridor outside the Great Hall. When they turned to go outside, he was momentarily confused. Then he saw the groundskeeper’s hut down in the distance and remembered; they’d been invited to tea.  

* * *

“Decided to quit and go home, have you?” a sneering voice made Ron’s fists clench. Malfoy. 

Ron and the others turned to find Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle standng in the doorway behind them. 

“You wish,” Ron spat, moving towards them. Neville and Hermione each put a hand on his arms and Harry just shrugged his sholders. 

“We’re having tea with a friend,” Harry said politely. “I’d invite you along, but that’d be rude, as he’s not expecting so many of us.  You could join us for dinner if you’re so eager to check on us.” 

Ron looked but couldn’t seem to find any outward hint that Harry had injured his head, or had his brain slip out through an ear. Malfoy seemed to be checking as well, as he gaped at Harry a moment before asking outright. 

“What are you playing at, Potter?” Malfoy said, angry. 

“Well, you walked up and asked about us,” Harry said, affecting a sort of wide-eyed, innocent kindness. Ron honestly couldn’t tell how real it was. “I figure you’re the sort who’d see his time as rather important, so you wouldn’t waste it talking to people who are beneath you.  Thought you were giving me a chance to apologize for slamming the door in your face, so you could work out why I think my friends are the right sort. Was I wrong?” 

Ron, as much as he would have enjoyed hitting Malfoy and having done with it, had to admit the confused and embarrassed look on his face was something he’d have regretted missing out on. 

Hermione stifled a laugh next to him, coughing to cover it up, and Ron shrugged off her and Neville’s hands. 

Turning to Harry, he said, “We should get going. We’ll be late at this rate.” 

“You heard him,” Harry said. He made an open palmed gesture as if to say ‘what can you do?’. “We’ll be off. I imagine you’ll let us know what you figure out.” 

Harry turned and walked towards the groundskeeper’s hut and Ron followed grinning widely. Behind him Malfoy made a sound of frustration that Ron planned to recall anytime he had a particularly rough day. 

 

* * *

Hagrid was waiting by the window when he saw Harry and his friends approach. They were a couple of minutes late, and he’d thought about going in after them, but now he moved to the door to greet the small crowd. 

“Now, who’s this you’ve brought ter my door, ‘Arry?” Hagrid asked smiling, and waving them in. 

“Professor Snape’s least favorite students, if I had to guess,” Harry replied. “Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and you already know me.” 

“Ah now, don’ be that way,” Hagrid soothed. “He’s a right git ter most people. Can’ let it get ter ya. Longbottom and Weasley, yeah? I should have known. Certainly seen enough Weasleys in my day ter know one. Your twin brothers are a right menace they are. Chased them from the forest a couple times this week, and we’ve barely even started the year. Neville, you take after yer mum more’n a little. A fine witch in her day, and your father was no less a fine wizard.” 

Ron grinned and seemed a bit proud of his brothers, where Neville simply nodded, before saying, “I like your garden. Those pumpkins should be a sight when they’ve finished growing.” 

“Thank ya, Neville,” Hagrid said. 

“I can put the kettle on,” Ron offered, and Hagrid showed him where things were before turning to Hermione. 

“You’ll be the first from your family, yeah? They didn’t send me out to you. Which of the lot met your parents and explained everythin’?” 

“Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said proudly. “ She was brilliant. My mum wasn’t keen on letting me go, but she answered every question mum had.” 

“Aye, she’s certainly good at what she does, our deputy-headmistress,” Hagrid agreed. 

They talked while the tea steeped, or at least Ron and Hermione talked, Neville seemed content to hang back, and Harry was a bit quiet himself. 

Hagrid was about to ask what was wrong when Harry picked up a cutting from the prophet that  Hagrid had left on the table. 

“Some broke into Gringotts, and actually got away?” Harry asked, dumfounded. “And that vault… We were there on the same day!” 

“Would yer like some rock cakes fer later?” Hagrid said, more loudly than he’d meant to. 

He could see Harry move to ask again, but the boy must Have seen something in his expression, because he stopped and accepted a couple of the small cakes. 

When it was time for them to go, shortly after that, Hagrid held Harry back a moment. 

“It’s nothin’ ta do with you, ‘Arry,” Hagrid said. “Don’ go worrying about it, or telling tales. And don’ worry about Snape either. We’ll all do our jobs, an’ everythin’ will be like it should. You’ve got a few good friends there. Yer parents’d be pleased with how well you’re doing, they would.” 

Harry nodded and walked quickly to where his friends were waiting.  Hagrid went in to take the last of the tea and have a nip of something stronger before heading up to the kitchens to get his dinner. 

* * *

 

The next several days passed quickly. 

Harry was busier than he could recall having ever been in his life. He and Hermione met up in the common rooms for what Hermione had termed “Independent Study”. In the mornings, they covered new material in one or two subjects. They were both following the lesson plan set out by Harry’s aunt, with Hermione doing a review for the moment as she was a year ahead. On weekdays, their studies ended at breakfast and resumed before bed, but during their first weekend at Hogwarts they’d come back and worked on assignments until lunch as well. Hermione had written to her parents, seeking study materials of her own, and she planned to take her GCE after their fourth year, around the time when she would have taken it anyway. 

Aside from the extra-curricular work he did continuing his muggle education, there were also masses of readings and essays to do for his Hogwarts classes, and the pressure to do it all while still making time for chess with Ron and trips down to the greenhouse and various places on the grounds with Neville. There were loads of plants that fed on excess magical energy, and Neville had been leading them around in their few spare minutes to try and find as many as they could.  It was fun,  but Harry was so exhausted that he almost slept through Hedwig’s return. She came back on Tuesday, in the second week of term. 

He’d been dozing lightly, not registering the fond amusement of his classmates, when the rush of birds startled him into wakefulness. He tipped a glass of pumpkin juice when he jumped, but the mess seemed to evaporate, even as he dabbed helplessly at it with  a napkin. 

“Morning Harry,” Ron teased, and Harry shoved him lightly. 

“Could have poked me. Some friend you are,” Harry said, smiling to show that he wasn’t actually angry.

“If you want friendship, go to Hufflepuff,” Ron shot back. “We have transfiguration this morning, I’m saving your life. Better to fall asleep in here than in there.” 

Across the table, Neville shuddered visibly before adding. “Maybe you should take time off your muggle classes, we start flying…soon, tomorrow?  And you don’t want to be falling asleep then either. We have it with Slytherin.” 

“Thursday, Neville,” Hermione corrected. “But he’s not wrong. We could switch it to every other day? And there’ll be time to catch up during holidays too.” 

Ron groaned at they idea, and the group was laughing when Hedwig landed, holding out letters from Aunt Petunia and Remus. 

Harry took both letters and gave Hedwig a bit of bacon before settling in to read. He opened the one from his aunt first, eager for news from Dudley. 

> “Dear Harry, 
> 
> Thank you for writing so quickly. Dudley and Piers have both arrived safely at school, and have called home to say that they are settling in. Dudley told me to let you know that he’ll write to you just as soon as he gets the letter that I’ve mailed to him on your behalf. I’ve also sent the letters for your friends, and you’ll get the replies soon after I receive them. We’ll get the hang of this. 
> 
> I’m glad that you went to the professor about the staring, and equally glad to know that someone at that school has your safety in mind. Disappearing stairs seem like a terrible idea anywhere, all the more so in a school for children. Speaking of professors, I don’t want to alarm you, but I would appreciate it if you would do your best to avoid Severus Snape. 
> 
> It’s true, he was friends with Lily when they were children, but he’s not like Remus, not an old friend of your parents’ who’ll be kind to you. Not all friendships last. It’s not always clear at the start what people will grow to be. I’ll leave it at that. As hard as this will be to hear, and as little as I suspect you’ll believe me when I say it, this is nothing for you to be concerned about. There are things that not even you can fix. 
> 
> Study hard, and get me your home-study assignments when you can. If you’ll also get me your friend’s parents’ names and phone numbers, I’ll talk with them about how it all works. 
> 
> Your uncle and I miss you, and not just because the window boxes don’t look the same without your direct involvement. I can keep your plants alive in your absence, but they and I await your safe return. 
> 
> Be a good boy and do as you’re told, 
> 
> Petunia Dursley.” 

Harry felt a moment’s satisfaction. He’d been right. They’d been friends. What had happened? What had Snape ‘grown to be’? Harry glanced up at the glowering figure at the head table before looking back at the letter. Maybe just that? Maybe they’d drifted apart because Snape was a bullying git? 

Harry tried to put it out of his mind, but he still hoped for more information as he opened Remus’s letter.  

> “Hello Harry, 
> 
> The picture gave it away, even before I read your letter. Congratulations on being sorted into Gryffindor. James would be happier than you will ever know, though of course he’d have been proud of you no matter which house you ended up in. My father has said that you’d have done well enough in Slytherin, but I’ve always suspected that it’d be Gryffindor. Didn’t your grandmother always call you’re her lion-hearted little boy? Of course, she and your grandfather would be pleased as well.  
> 
> I don’t suppose you’ll have brought Prongs and Padfoot with you to Hogwarts, though it’s amused me a bit to think that you might. Someday I’ll tell you why, but I've been waiting for you to start school at least. To be as honest as I can, I’ve been waiting for you to need me less and trust me more.  
> 
> In service of that, I’ll offer you some information regarding why Professor Snape (and you cannot know how strange a phrase that is for me) mightn’t be kind to you. 
> 
> Harry, not everyone gets it right from the start. I’m almost certain that, as good and kind a boy as you are, you will change in time. I hope and trust that we’ll guide you in ways that will make those changes good ones, but not everyone moves from good to better. Sometimes people grow into their better selves from harder and less gentle beginnings.  Your father, for all his good qualities, had a particularly long process of growth in some ways; particularly where Severus Snape was concerned.  Snape, suffice it to say, made his own changes and choices. They never liked each other, and though I’ve been told and half remember your mother having been a friend to Snape, in the end she came to dislike him as well. None of this needs to be brought up or shared, but you do need to understand, not everyone is like your aunt. It is rare and amazing to reconcile so completely with someone who can’t and likely wouldn’t apologize. Keep your head down and tell McGonagall if his anger affects your grades or spills beyond his class. 
> 
> Get back to studying, but write again soon. I’ll be seeing your aunt for lunch in a day or two, and I hope to  be able to offer you and a friend or two the option to spend part of Christmas holidays with my father and I.  We’ll work out the details in time. 
> 
> Your friend, 
> 
> Remus Lupin”

Harry set aside Remus’s letter with plans to read it again later. There was a lot there to think about, secrets and rivalries and plans, but he needed to get to class. As they left the hall harry was more happy than usual that he was not heading to Potions.  

* * *

 

Flying lessons took place as scheduled, on Thursday afternoon. The four friends walked to class together, passing around the Remembrall that Neville’s Gran had sent him.  Much to his dismay, the smoke inside turned red whenever his fingertips so much as neared it. 

It wouldn’t have been so bad, Harry thought, if only the thing could give them some clue as to what it was that Neville was forgetting. 

They’d tried to brainstorm ideas, but so far nothing had done it. 

Harry had heard people talking about the flying lessons and about quidditch since he’d arrived at school, but he wasn’t all that interested to be honest. The closest he’d been to being on a proper broom was a toy at Remus’s and he’d outgrown that ages ago. It hovered, but a decent pair of skates moved faster. 

Neville’s experience was similar, though Ron had flown and played with his sibling for years. The other boys in their year were a mix of experienced and not. Harry remembered Malfoy going on about quidditch back in the robe shop, and he found himself less interested for that reason alone. 

When they reached the lawn where lessons were to be held, Malfoy strolled over, but was cut off by Madam Hooch. 

“Line up next to the brooms, now, we haven’t got all day!” She called, and they did. 

Over the next half hour, they learned to call their brooms up to their hands from the ground, and the basics of riding them. Madam Hooch corrected Malfoy’s grip, which made Ron laugh until she similarly corrected his. 

“Honestly,” she grumbled, “What did my predecessor teach your parents?” 

It was almost a fun lesson, but when it came time to actually kick off from the ground, Neville brought his foot down at an odd angle, and the broom went spinning off towards the sky.  Things fell from his pockets and the wind swept his hat off toward the forest, but Neville was well over twenty meters in the air, before it levelled out.

There were a few tense moments where Neville tried to hold on, but in the end, he was left hanging on by one hand. The old, worn out broom gave an unexpected jerk then, and he fell in a heap to the ground. 

Madam Hooch had magically cushioned a circle under him, but somehow his arm had splayed a bit outside of it. Harry could see it going purple from where he stood. 

“I’m taking him to the hospital wing, “Madam Hooch snapped. “Both feet on the ground, all of you, or it’ll be detention for the next two weeks, and lost house points as well.” 

Harry was still watching her, and Neville on the conjured stretcher at her side, when Malfoy walked up. 

“That was some flying,” He mocked. 

Harry just felt tired. 

“So, you’ve decided then? Gonna waste time being a git to people you don’t like?” Harry asked. 

“Why do you like them?” Malfoy hissed. The other Slytherins and Gryffindors seemed to think a fight was on the way, and a few gathered around. “What can any of them offer you? My family has power. Power like yours once had. I can show you-”

“My family has all the ‘power’ it needs,” Harry snapped. Malfoy didn’t get it, and Harry’s friend was hurt, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it and- 

“Your family is dead,” Malfoy spat, and the words were like a slap to his face. “They chose wrong, just like you. And you’ll pay for it. See if you can remember that.” 

Malfoy pulled Neville’s remembrall from a pocket in his robes, and he mounted a broom, kicking off easily. 

“Come and get it, Potter,” He called down. “Show everyone what the ‘venerable and courageous’ Potter house has been reduced to.” 

A broom was in Harry’s hand before he could remember having moved or called for one, and soon Harry met him in the air, and gave chase. 

In an instant Harry understood that he’d never truly flown before, not in his entire life. This was flying, and Harry was falling deeper in love with it by the moment. Unlike pretty much everything else he’d ever done, this was something he could do without practice or effort, and with barely any teaching. It was wonderful, and it would have been perfect except- 

“You are nothing, Potter,” Malfoy called back to him. They were so high up and moving so fast that no one on the ground would be able to hear them. “You are the half-blooded ghost of a dead line. If it weren’t for that scar on your head you’d be useless, but I offered you a chance.” 

Malfoy led them higher still before shouting, “Fine. You want to chase your family into the ground? Go.” 

He threw the Remembrall as hard as he could, and Harry took off at a shot, pursuing it.  

The wind rushed past him as he dove. Harry laughed his improbable joy to to blue sky at his back and the green ground  and the screaming students zooming towards him until he felt the small ball in his hand. Then he swung the tail of the broom down and around stopping a foot from the ground. 

He barely had time to watch the red smoke inside of the small ball before an unexpected voice called out his name. 

“Potter!” Professor McGonagall cried, sounding out of breath. 

Harry had to remind himself to dismount, and not to simply fly over to her, but he went. When they rounded the corner and walked back into the school, he could hear the class burst into conversation about what had just happened. 

* * *

 

At dinner that night, Harry sat silently, thinking back to the conversation he’d just been a part of, 

(“What you mean, you don’t want to play?” Professor McGonagall and Wood had been stunned. 

“I’m doing a lot, Ma’am,” Harry’d replied. “Work for two schools, and keeping up with my friends. I love flying, but I don’t have the time for practices, not all the time.”) 

That, of course, had led to Wood being sent back to class, and Professor McGonagall all but interrogating him about his plans to study for his GCEs. 

(“Hedging your bets, are you Potter?” she’d said, utterly thrown by what she’d heard. “Whatever nonsense your aunt has told you, you aren’t a muggle. There’s no place in that world for you, and no reason to be studying their subjects. You are magical. This is where you belong.”

_Then where was it all?_ Harry had wondered, where had it all been between his visits with Remus and Lyall? 

Years later with more perspective, looking back, he’d add that if he’d been born to only one world, what sense had it made to give him to his aunt, who couldn’t get into that world , or his grandparents, who could only ever stand at the edges.

In the moment, he’d only said, “I promised my aunt that I’d try. Is it against the rules?” ) 

So now he was scheduled to meet with Professor Dumbledore, not immediately, but in two weeks, to give Professor McGonagall time to look over the duplicate of his aunt’s lesson plan that she’d made. To keep the peace and hopefully to make her less angry, Harry’d agreed to be a reserve Seeker. He’d only ever play if there was literally no one else who could. 

Harry wanted a nap. He’d come to the great hall early. He’d hoped for quiet, and he’d gotten it for a while but the free period ended and more students came in. the questions began and he got lost in it, responding almost automatically.  

No, he wasn’t in trouble/expelled/dead. Yes, McGonagall had pulled Wood from class. No, he wasn’t the new seeker, technically. Yes, he’d meet Malfoy for a midnight duel, just as long as the irksome git would go back to his table. 

He barely realized what he’d done until a moment later when Ron shook his shoulder. 

“Harry, are you alright?” Ron said. “Are you even awake? Are you really going to duel Malfoy in the trohy room?” 

It had been such a long day, that when it all went wrong- and of course it did- and they ended up in a room with a three-headed-dog, on the one corridor where they’d meant the least to be, while running from Filch, Harry nearly laughed.  Luckily, he ran instead, and fell asleep in a squashy red armchair by the fire to the sound of Ron and Hermione bickering. Hogwarts was a more dangerous and chaotic home than he'd ever known but it was fast becoming a home in its own right. In spite of everything, there was no place he'd rather be. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter clearly took me longer than anticipated. I had some real life stuff come up, and there was alot of plot to get through here, which... is relatively new for me to have to deal with in this series. (if it sounds like a line or wording directly from the book, it is. I do try not to do that often). There was some set up needed for the general plot, but also for the relationships between characters here. I have plans for more impactful changes, and I'm not just gonna paraphrase the series, I promise so... if you're worried I get it, but you know.. Wait for it. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos I've gotten since last chapter and in general. Thanks for the comments too, though I try to respond individually to those. I always want to hear from you, and comments make me feel less crazy for attempting this. The next chapter will be up as soon as it's written, and I'll remind you that I promise the next chapter is coming, even if it takes me a while. Thank you for reading, and I look forward to hearing from you.


	6. Chapter 6

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office, staring into the fireplace as he thought.  

This was not unusual. He’d been a researcher, a scholar, and an alchemist since the dust in the halls had been the living and functioning bones of some of the wise witches and wizards who’d preceded him. He’d led a resistance through one war, and stopped another in its infancy with the defeat of Grindelwald.  He was still a headmaster and active in the political landscape of the wizarding world. His head was often full, and he often pointed unseeing eyes on the ancient fireplace as he churned its contents.  

The contents themselves, now those were a touch odd of late.  

A wizarding child was continuing his muggle education at Hogwarts, and it was, at least partly due to his own actions. He’d sent Harry to live in the muggle world. He’d done it for the boy’s safety, but he’d done it all the same. He’d known that the boy would attend muggle schools, but surely, he couldn’t have felt that he’d belonged there.  

Albus sighed, bending his back and resting his arms on his legs. He’d planned and ordered his world through fire and fury into temporary peace more times than he cared to count, but there were always things beyond his control. Spells went astray.  Hearts broke like explosive devices changing the board on which his pieces moved and leaving shrapnel to make holes in his carefully crafted plans. The rules were never as fixed as he wished.  

Petunia was meant to hold onto both the boy and her resentment. She’d not truly abuse the child, not while they shared blood and he had her mother’s eyes, but she wouldn’t love him. The boy who arrived at Hogwarts was meant to have overcome his circumstances as much as he was able and to crave magic, crave belonging in the magical world. Harry had needed to see Privet Drive as a home for the protections to work, but it was never meant to be a perfect one.  

Petunia had changed everything when she’d given the boy to her parents.  

Albus had adjusted the wards, to protect him at the Evans’s house. He’d adjusted other plans as well, sending Remus to ground the boy in their world. Had Remus failed?  

He couldn’t know for certain until he spoke with the boy, but it didn’t seem as simple as Harry clinging to the world that he’d been raised in. He’d taken to the Longbottom boy, and to youngest Weasley son.  

The prophesy weighed heavily on Albus’s mind. Voldemort was out there, somewhere. Somehow, he’d lingered and the marked child of those who’d thrice defied him seemed determined to stand with a foot in two worlds.  

A knock on his office door brought him into the present, and Albus walked to sit behind as his desk, calling, “Come in, Mr. Potter, and have a seat. It seems we’ve much to discuss.” 

* * *

Harry took a deep breath and tried to straighten his back a little before entering the headmaster’s office. It was the end of September, but it felt as if he’d been at Hogwarts for a year, he’d been so busy with his muggle and wizarding studies, and trying to get information about three headed dogs from Hagrid and the library. This meeting was going to determine how much more difficult the year was going to be.  Studying extra subjects while in school was a challenge, but being forced to do so in secret would make things that much more taxing.  

Walking into the room, Harry looked around at the various moving instruments and devices on the desk and shelves. On the wall behind the headmaster, above an arch that led further into a wide space that seemed more relaxed than the main office, portraits of witches and wizards looked down on the proceedings with varying degrees of interest. Beside the headmaster’s desk, a red and gold bird was perched, seeming old somehow, but old like kings are old, old like a legend.  Instinctively, Harry bowed his head to the creature before taking his seat, and received a trill in response that made him smile in spite of himself.  

“This is Fawkes,” the headmaster introduced, “a phoenix that has been with me for some time. But you have come to discuss your education. Professor McGonagall has given me your aunt’s lesson plan and explained that you plan to proceed as if homeschooled in the muggle world while you continue your studies here.”  

Harry nodded, replying, “Yes, sir. My aunt knows that my Hogwarts work comes first, and my friends, but as long as I’m getting on well with everything else, I want to go on as we’ve planned.”  

“And to facilitate Ms. Granger walking the same path,” Dumbledore said mildly.  

“If she wants to, Sir,” Harry replied. He sat up straighter in his seat and tried to think it all through. He wanted to leave Hermione out of this, if he could. “I don’t get it. I’ve read _Hogwarts:_ _a_ _H_ _istory_ , and looked up ord-… ordinations? Laws I mean, in the library. Is there something saying I can’t take my muggle tests during the summer, years from now?” 

“The wizarding world has never needed ordinances to govern this,” Dumbledore told him. “The statute of secrecy prevents muggles from knowing of us, but most wizards find muggles and their subjects a casual curiosity at best. We have customs and ways of knowing that are wholly our own, most have little need of others.”  

“Most don’t grow up in one of those others, or live in them, though,” Harry said, tilting his head. “What about them? I’ve always known I was coming here someday, but I’ve always had sciences and geography, and cricket, and football, and movies. Are people who grew up like me, but without Remus and grandparents like mine, just some kind of mistake that Hogwarts is meant to fix?”  

Harry’s eyes widened a little as he thought about Remus’s first letter. He’d kept it, or his grandmother had, but he’d been given it, along with the pictures of his parents when he was old enough to keep them on his own.  Had Remus been sent to fix him? It was an unsettling thought, and Harry felt himself getting angry.  

“Of course not, child,” Dumbledore said. “We all come from different places, and wizarding world is stronger for it. No one is a ‘mistake’. I would never mean to imply such a thing.  You’ve said that your studies here will your first priority, yes?”  

Harry nodded, but did not reply aloud this time. He watched the headmaster, not allowing his eyes to stray over to Fawkes. He didn’t feel like smiling anymore.  

“Then I can see no problem with your continued studies, so long as your classwork does not suffer, and you maintain your position as reserve seeker for Gryffindor. You’ve had ten years to put muggle culture first Harry,” the headmaster pointed out. “Seven years of prioritizing your wizarding heritage during the school year is more than fair.  Don’t you agree?”  

“Yes, Sir.” Harry replied.  It didn’t feel like fairness had any part in this, but he couldn’t have properly said why. He felt a bit sick. If he’d wanted, could he have said no to Hogwarts and the wizarding world? He didn’t want to say no, but the idea that he couldn’t have, that he couldn’t now... It was unsettling to say the least.  

“You’re dismissed, I believe you’re due in Charms?” the headmaster concluded. “Do your best, or we’ll have to revisit this conversation.”  

Harry nodded again and stood. Above and around him the portraits, previous headmasters and headmistresses if he was remembering right, murmured judgements or slept, or slipped from their frames to whisper with bowed heads. Fawkes chirped a farewell at his back, filling his heart with the warmth of a good parting, and smoothing the jagged edges of his remaining anger.  Harry tried not to glance back, but he couldn’t help it. The bird flew gracefully from his perch to sit atop the door, and Harry gave him another small smile as he left, leaving the door open behind him.  

Dumbledore watched him go with no outward sign of his thoughts, before standing and walking to the large, rune carved basin on its stand beside the window. The fire was fine for brooding, but a good plan required liquid flexibility, resilience, and the ability to consider moving parts. He gathered up the memory of the meeting and dove into it in the space of a breath.  All would come to peace and light. The wizarding world would have what it needed when the time came. He’d make certain of it.  

* * *

 

Hermione felt tense from the moment Harry walked into Charms. It didn’t help that he was shrugging off notes and whispered questions or that through their History of Magic lesson, he appeared to actually be paying attention to Professor Binns. He was, quite possibly, the first Gryffindor to do so after their first lesson with him in nearly a century.  

It was frustrating in the worst way, as she’d argued for over a week that she ought to go with him to the meeting.  

> (“This about something that both of us are doing,” she’d said, practically. “You shouldn’t get all the blame just because your aunt thought of it first. And we checked. There’s no school or ministry rule forbidding it.”  
> 
> “Professor McGonagall only included me in the meeting, probably because she doesn’t know about you,” Harry’d replied. “If we keep it that way, you can go on studying even if they make me send my books and things home.”  
> 
> “But I could help!” She’d pressed. “And if they found out about me after stopping you, I’d just look willfully disrespectful. They might know anyway. We study together in public places.” ) 

It’d all been for naught though. Harry had stood his ground, and short of going to McGonagall, which might earn her own separate meeting and not the chance to support Harry through his, there was nothing for it but to wait, and have arguments and sources ready if it didn’t work out.  

Her tension rose through History of Magic until, just outside of the classroom, Harry turned to her.  

“We don’t need fixing,” Harry snapped. “Not by Hogwarts or anyone.”  

“Course not,” Ron said, having stopped beside them. “Who said you did?”  

Harry blinked and shook his head.  

“No one, but the Headmaster...” Harry looked around, and Hermione did too. There were other students, a couple of whom had stopped when Harry spoke, and even a portrait or two seemed to be taking notice.  

“Outside?” Hermione asked. 

Harry nodded and led the way. As they walked beside the lake Harry explained about how the meeting had gone.  

“...Muggle culture, he said. Like there’s just the one. He wants me to have just a casual curiosity about it all, like most wizards, but it’s my aunt and my grandparents’ whole life, and most of mine. How do I just drop all of that? ” Harry said frustrated as he finished. He was angry but Hermione... she’d felt the cool awful resignation in her belly before, and she found that she hadn’t missed it at all.  

Ron and Neville looked on with vague confusion, but Hermione didn’t feel like offering them answers, not when she was suddenly being flooded by questions of her own. “Wizarding Heritage”, he’d said. What heritage did she have? Her race was a fact of her life. Her hair was curly and all over the place, her skin was dark, and also, she had two eyes that could search a book faster than some of her friends could find one on a shelf. These were things that she knew about herself. She'd had a lot of reasons, in recent years, to feel that she didn’t belong, not in the seamless way that other people did. 

Her parents were well off. Dentistry paid well, and class had unlocked doors that race might always have pulled close. She’d gone to certain schools, and been in certain clubs. It hadn’t removed all barriers. Even as a very young girl she’d known that. There were still people who thought she should have been born somewhere else, or who’d looked on her as some sort of trick, like a cat that could meow its human’s name. Magic had given her a way to leave them behind.   

Hearing Harry talk about the things that Dumbledore had said, she wondered about the cost of her supposed freedom. She wasn’t only giving up opportunities in the muggle world, she realized. It had been assumed, maybe from her first meeting with Professor McGonagall, that she’d be paying for her future in the wizarding world by giving up the entirety of her place in the muggle one. She might, passively, thoughtlessly, have given up the cultural elements that bound her not just to her parents, and theirs, but to other girls with brown skin who lacked the privilege of an in-born escape from a world that only sometimes saw them as equals.  

She felt herself tearing up a little.Harry, who’d been seething quietly beside her, stopped walking moved to stand in front of her.  

“I don’t want to go back,” Hermione murmured to him. She couldn’t imagine going back to the muggle world with the prejudices that she’d so recently left behind, couldn’t wish away the relief in her parents' eyes when they’d seen dark skinned ministers of magic, and women who’d run major departments, who were heads of schools and governments in her history books. “I wish I could want to. I feel like some sort of traitor, but being here is right. Isn’t it? And maybe there’ll be ways to reach back and help when we’re older.” 

Even as she said it, she knew. Half of Harry’s family had been a part of European wizarding culture for centuries. Assimilation had happened to them so long ago that probably no one gave much thought to where Harry’s dark skin had come from. They were similar in some ways, but not all. Hermione felt fierce longing for a peer, but when none came to mind she dried her eyes and met Harry’s.  

“Nothing can fix what isn’t broken, Harry.” Hermione added. “You had it from the start. We don’t need fixing. We’ll learn what we need to, but we’ll remember where we came from. Nothing can change that, or take it away. The past can be changed, but not that much.”  

Harry nodded firmly, then he looked around and gave her the world’s fastest hug before backing away awkwardly.  

Hermione laughed, and it felt so good that she didn’t stop smiling until they reached the front doors and re-entered the school.  Behind her, Harry was doing his best to translate the moment to Ron and Neville, but seemed to be failing miserably. That was funny in its own way though, and she felt that she could properly relax as she sat down to lunch.  

* * *

It would not be altogether accurate to say that things got better after the meeting with Dumbledore. Harry could feel the eyes of his professors on him at all times, particularly Professor Mcgonagall’s,  as if they were looking for some excuse to forbid his extra studies.  

When there were no professors around, the increasingly troubling rumors about the struggle to find a fit seeker for Gryffindor led to a different set of stares from his housemates.  

Seamus alternated between extolling the virtues of quidditch and not speaking to him. Older students had taken to muttering about the “selfish little git with his books” when he passed them in corridors. It was even worse when he took the occasional hour in the evening to borrow a school broom and fly.  

He couldn’t have cared less for quidditch, but flying was the best thing in his life some days. In the air he could do as he pleased, could arc and spin and spiral. He could dive until his heart beat against his ribs, savoring the sweetness of the first breath after leveling off.  

It was brilliant, until he landed. Then he was greeted by people who seemed all the more frustrated by his refusal to attend more than two practices a month, and take his place as House seeker. Self-preservation alone kept him from reminding them that he was only a reserve because Dumbledore and McGonagall insisted. 

It was a testament to the joy he felt in the air that he continued flying at all. He knew his friends wished he’d do it less often, even when they joined him in the sky. They’d each been approached several times by people wanting them to do something about Harry’s stubbornness.  

Still the next month crept on. He exchanged letters with his family and friends, he wondered about the three headed dog and the trap door on which it stood, he studied, and he scraped out time to explore the grounds with Neville and play chess with Ron.   

When he woke up on Halloween, Harry rolled over in his four-poster bed and watched the light play on the curtains, a blur of pale blue with white glows from the floating candles.  

His grandparents had always gone a bit quiet around Halloween. They’d looked at him differently, not in a bad way, but a soft, sad one. His aunt gave Dudley and him sweets and let them dress up if they liked, but tended to save her fall fun for bonfire night. 

Harry pushed the curtains at his feet aside and dug in a pocket in the lid of his trunk to pull out a picture from his parents wedding. He watched them, standing among friends, looking lovingly and laughing silently at each other. They’d been soldiers in a war; but happy for a moment and strong.  

Neville pushed back his curtains while Harry was still laying and looking at the picture.  

“Lo Harry,” he said softly.  

Harry shifted over, making room for Neville, who settled down next to him  on the bed and looked at the picture too.  

“These are my parents,” Harry introduced, feeling oddly shy. Had he ever introduced them before? He babbled on, “And that’s Remus, Remember? He was their friend. I think the black-haired man with them, and the short blonde chap must have been their friends too, but Remus gets upset when I ask about them. Grandmum taught me not to poke sore places when I can help it.” 

“She sounds nice,” Neville said looking at the picture still. They were quiet for a while before Neville spoke again, almost too softly for Harry to hear. “My parents aren’t gone…not like yours. Sometimes I think they’re worse.” 

“How-” Harry started to ask, but stopped himself. He half remembered what Professor Snape had said about Neville and time spent in the hospital. He completely remembered Neville’s pale face as he told them not to ask. “That’s a sore place isn’t it?”  

Neville shrugged, “Aren’t yours?”  

Harry nodded still staring ahead at the picture. He wanted to ask a thousand things. He wanted to know if Neville could hear his parents speak, if hearing his mother was why it wasn’t always worse than having them gone. Instead, he rested his head one of his arms and watched for a while longer before putting it away again. It was time to wash and study before breakfast. 

* * *

 

Thing were strangely normal after that. Ron woke up and joined Harry, Neville, and Hermione in the common room before leading them off to breakfast. No one said anything about Harry or his family, or even the end of the war, exactly ten years before.  

He’d be tempted to believe that no one remembered or cared but him, except that Snape was staring at him more coldly than usual. It almost put him off his food, but he put pushed through. He vaguely remembered uncomfortable breakfasts with his aunt staring down at him like she was trying to figure him out. This wasn’t that. This was like Snape trying to erase Harry’s life, one day at a time, with just his gaze. Still, that wasn’t actually a thing that a person could do, as far as he knew, and he really was quite hungry.  

They had double Herbology that morning, and Hermione and Neville were engaged in an intense debate over whether or not it was proper to call “Datura Stramonium” by its more common name during an academic discussion.  

“Devil’s Snare is nasty stuff Hermione,” Neville argued. “People need to know what they’re dealing with, not be faffing about trying to work out if what you said was a spell or a sneeze or something.”  

“But the name sound like something someone’s mum would say,” Hermione countered.  

“Oy,” Ron said around a mouthful of toast. “My mum’s pretty smart. What’ve you got against mum’s, Hermione?”  

Harry laughed at the absurdity of his friends and grabbed a roll and a couple of oranges on the off chance that he got hungry during a break.  

Malfoy was looking at him, Harry realized as he stood up from the table. Harry figured he was deciding whether or not to come over. Harry watched back until their eyes met, then he gave a shrug. If Malfoy came over, they’d talk, or Malfoy would snark and Harry would talk. If Malfoy wanted to do that, well it was more convenient distraction from Snape, and he had class too, so the interaction would likely be short. If he didn’t want to come over, just as well.  

Malfoy sat back in his seat and crossed his arms, looking deliberately away as he sulked. Harry glanced over at his friends, saw that they were ready, and led them off to the greenhouses.  The day moved on.  

At lunch Snape was still glaring, with heat this time; it seemed he was actively angry at having to lay eyes on him. He wasn’t staring this time, nothing so constant. It might have been easier to ignore if he were. As it was he kept pausing in his discussion of football because the base level feeling of being watched that he’d learned to live with during his time at Hogwarts was intensifying periodically.  

He even felt his scar twinging again, sharply as the professors had filed into the hall for the meal, but it’d been achy since. If it got much worse he was going to have to and see Madame Pomphrey about it. He sighed at the thought of the lost time to study or fly, or go to class.  

“What is it?” Dean Thomas asked.  

“You’re really a West Ham fan?” Harry said, refocusing. “I could’ve watched Ron try to eat half a pie while trouncing Seamus at chess, but instead I’m talking football with a West Ham supporter.”  

Dean shoved his arm and laughed and Harry smiled, but he also added some sandwiches to the oranges he still had from earlier. He'd had quite enough of the great hall for a day.  

* * *

Neville had thought that things would be different, if he ever told a friend about his parents. He thought he’d be different, and maybe he was, but not in a bad way. His “sore places” were no less sore, but he did feel better knowing that there was someone that he could talk about them with.   

There weren’t a lot of wizarding war orphans. His uncle had told him that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been a “vicious, spiteful, bastard”, which apparently meant that he’d tended to kill off families. Those who’d been killed in battle had been young, from what he saw in books.  Harry wasn’t the only one to have lost a parent- Merlin knew that there were a lot of step-parents and half siblings in the years around theirs- but not a lot had lost both parents. None of those others were both Harry Potter, and impossibly kind.   

Neville tried to return that kindness by asking Harry no less than five times if he was sure that he’d rather take a walk than go to their first Halloween Feast at school, but he was determined.  

“Go on, guys,” Harry said. “I want to move around anyway, and this way I can do it without people being angry at me along the way, or arguing about quidditch, or other nonsense.”  

“I could stay with you,” Neville offered reluctantly. “Love a good walk, me, and we could find some night blooming plants.” 

“Love a good feast more, I’ll bet,” Harry argued. “Go, and make sure Ron and Hermione stop arguing long enough to eat. I’ll walk some and then come back here.  I won’t go near the 3rd floor corridor. It‘ll be safe as houses, you’ll see.”  

Ron and Hermione objected to his implication that they needed a minder, but they’d gone with Neville to the feast all the same.   

The great hall was decked out when they arrived, full of pumpkins, carved and with candles in, and bats swooped overhead. It was brilliant, and Neville was just sipping some spiced pumpkin juice when the doors to the Hall banged open.   

“Troll in the Dungeons!” Professor Quirrell stammered before falling down in a faint.  

The other professors rushed into action, sending them to their common rooms, and organizing to search for the troll, but Neville, Hermione and Ron locked eyes as they stood.  

“Harry!” They all said at once.  The crowd pushed them along, and they kept talking as they went. 

“We have to look for him,” Ron said.  

“What if we find the troll instead? We should tell a professor,” Hermione said.  

“The way they’ve been watching him? They might think he was off studying muggle things. We could get him in trouble,” Neville replied. 

“He’s in trouble now!” Hermione said.   

“Run off and left you, has he?” A snide voice, said from behind them. The Slytherins were being led off to nearby classrooms as the troll could be between them and their common room but, of course, Malfoy had found the time to bother them.  

“Neville, come with me,” Ron said. “We’ll find him. Hermione, give us 20 minutes and then you can summon the minister of blood magic for all I care. Just give us a chance to find him first.”  

“Fine,” Hermione said. “But if you see the troll-”  

“You’ll hear the screaming for help from the tower. Get going. Let’s check the grounds near the entrance, and the quidditch pitch,” Ron said. Neville pointed out a group of Hufflepuffs going in the opposite direction, and they joined at the back, slipping off to begin the search.  

Neither boy noticed as Malfoy, eyes wide, went off on business of his own.  

* * *

 

Draco Malfoy pointedly did not think about what he was doing when he snuck away from Potter’s friends and began looking down corridors on the first floor. If he thought about it, he’d realize that he was looking for Potter. That was not something that he’d ever have thought to do. In fact, he would be downright chuffed if the troll found and ate stupid Potter who wouldn’t even properly fight with Draco, though he’d refused his offer of friendship.  Potter didn’t want to be his friend, and he’d been too irritatingly calm to properly be Draco’s enemy, or his rival.  

What had the shrug in the Great Hall been about? Potter had looked utterly bored, and that was not on.  It stung Draco in ways that he couldn’t entirely understand. He’d said things to Potter that were unforgivable, but Potter didn’t even look annoyed.  Saint Potter had his stupid, inferior friends who could and were looking for him, but Draco wasn’t really thinking about that either.  

He went down a corridor heading vaguely in the direction of the dungeons. He passed a wan looking portrait who didn’t so much as stir as Draco ran by before a smell hit him. It was like all of the household trash at the manor multiplied by several orders of magnitude. Then he recognized a voice, down another corridor.  

“Run!  Run from the lights!” Potter said, and Draco, not refusing to think at all as he ran towards the scene.  

Potter was shooting sparks at it, because he was a Gryffindor and simply running away would have been far too clever.   Still it seemed to be working. The Troll had bounded forward but, stung by the sparks on his outstretched hand was wheeling backward and knocked his great ugly head a bit with his own club.  Then Longbottom and Weasley ran up from the other side, and the twits exclaimed loudly (“Safe as what now, Harry?!”), startling the dazed troll, who moved to charge them again before stumbling before swerving and heading straight for Draco.  

“What’s that git doing here?” Weasley said, but Draco barely notice him as he raised his wand, backing up.   

Draco shot a tripping jinx that he'd read about earlier in the year at its tree-trunk sided ankles just as Granger joined them, shouting, “The troll’s over here! PROFESSORS!”   

It fell but lumbered to its feet, ambling back toward the Gryffindors, his club raised.  

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Weasley shouted, pointing his wand at the club. Potter and Granger took up the task as well. Longbottom ran for help as Draco joined in trying to lift the club from the Troll’s hand. 

When one of their spells raised the club and dropped it on the thing’s head, knocking it out, Draco stood meeting Potter’s eyes for the second time that day.  They could hear footsteps. The professors were coming, and Draco Malfoy was suddenly very aware of having helped Harry Potter. Uncertain of what to do about that, he shrugged and ran. He’d wait in the classroom next to the one his friends were in, and come out when they were given the all clear.  

He couldn’t go on not thinking, it was too hard to hold off. What would his father say? He’d put himself in danger for Potter, and he hadn’t left when he’d realized that others would share in the rescue, and there’d be no life debt, no debt in general. There was nothing practical, or convenient, or Slytherin in what he’d done.   

Potter had chosen  _them_. He’d talked about his family like he still had one that mattered. He’d rejected Draco in every possible way, but Draco couldn’t let go of this and match Potter’s attitude. It didn’t make sense, none of it. 

Draco was a Malfoy. Malfoys did not, as far as he knew, do...well... anything that he had done after realizing that Potter was in danger. Draco would just have to be a better Malfoy then.  He’d be like his father, who’d been like his grandfather, and so on before that. The line and the pride, purity, and honor of it were everything.  Weasley’s unexpected usefulness in a pinch, and Potter’s refusal to run when meeting something that could have crushed him in moments were nothing in the face of that.  There were some things that not even knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll could change. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story defies my plans constantly, but mostly in fun ways. Thanks to everyone for comments and Kudos since last chapter, and I look forward to your thoughts on this one. Playing with how Harry's indifference would mess with Malfoy is more fun than I'd have figured. and no offense to West Ham or their supporters was intended earlier. Speaking of deeply held concepts of identity, If you'd forgotten Hermione and Harry were people of color in this fic, I'd imagine that parts were confusing for a sec there. Hermione is a Black British person in this fic. Know that I tried to do my research while writing from her persective on race but if I goofed it horribly please tell me. 
> 
> Next chapter should bring us to, and with a little luck through, christmas in the story, and I'm just a bit hyped about writing it so My wild hopeful goal is to be getting that out around or before the month's end, along with another short story in or two in Snowdrops: Scenes and Snippets, which if you haven't looked/see/read, will have scenes I write from ealier in the timeline of this AU. Again, I look forward to your thoughts and welcome to any new readers just finding the series :)


	7. Chapter 7

Remus Lupin was getting an odd sense of déjà vu.  He thought about it as he made tea for himself and his father on a cold November morning. He’d been staying in his childhood home for a few days, recovering from a particularly bad moon, and hoping for a letter from Harry. For the second time in his life, a Potter that he’d thought safe and felt close to had suddenly gone just a bit too quiet.  

Harry wasn’t James, and the war had been over for years, but Remus couldn’t help bracing for something terrible to spring from the silence. He wasn’t alone in that either; Petunia had shown him the last letter she’d received from Harry when he’d joined her for lunch in the previous week.  

 “He says that things were frightening at Halloween but he’s safe, and he and his friends have been looking after each other,” she’d told him while handing him the letter, “Remus, what goes on at Hogwarts on Halloween that would make him need to assure us that he’s safe?” 

“You think he’s leaving things out,” Remus had clarified. 

“All boys get into more mischief than they’ll write home about, but not all of them bring up getting out of trouble they won’t admit to in their letters. What’s he told you about it?” She’d asked, but Remus hadn’t heard from Harry in weeks. 

It wasn’t like Harry to lie to them, but he had left things out before. Hadn’t he run around doing extra chores for weeks rather than tell them that he knew he was going to move in with his aunt? If this carried on, he’d have to ask directly, he decided; taking the kettle off of the hob and waiting for his father to come down. 

As if in answer to his worries, Hedwig landed on the perch outside the kitchen window, a letter tied to her leg. Remus let her in and fed her before taking the offered missive and sitting down at the table. 

His father walked in as he sat. 

“Good morning son, we’ve heard from Harry at last?” 

Remus nodded, pouring the heated water on the tea leaves in the pot on the table and fetching mugs and sugar. 

With everything assembled, he unfolded the letter and began to read aloud. 

> “Dear Remus,
> 
> I’m sorry that it’s been so long since I wrote to you. School has been busy, and very strange. I’m writing to you in the common room before my first Quidditch match. It’ll be over by the time you get this, hopefully. I’ve heard that games can go on for ages if no one gets the snitch. Anyway, I’m doing ok in my classes, and I’m alright, but... I think that Professor Snape might be doing something bad, and I’m not sure what to do.”

Remus paused, locking eyes with his father briefly before continuing.

> “There’s a thing here at Hogwarts, a dangerous thing. It’s guarding something, but I’m not sure what. Something Hagrid picked up for Dumbledore when we got my school things.
> 
>  I heard Snape grousing about the guard when he passed by on the grounds.  I think it hurt his leg. He was limping. Guards don’t hurt people who aren’t trying to get past them, right?
> 
>  It’s more than that though, something got loose in the dungeons right before he turned up limping, Remus. I think, and Ron and Neville think too, that he was using the fuss as a distraction. My scar hurts when he’s around sometimes, and it’s never done that before. 
> 
> It’s not just that he doesn’t like me, or that he’s not a nice person. I’m not whingeing, honest, I’m not. I don’t think I can go to Dumbledore. I don’t want him to think I haven’t been focusing on my lessons and on quidditch like he asked, but if Snape is really trying to steal something, someone should know.  What should I do?” 

 Remus looked up again but his father waved him on. 

> “Aunt Petunia told me about the plans for winter holidays. Thank you for talking to everyone’s families. It’s going to awesome to see them over the break, even if I don’t get all of them at once for long. Tell Lyall I said Hi and I hope he’s doing well. I’ve missed him, and you, very much.
> 
> Please write back soon, 
> 
> Harry
> 
> Ps. Enclosed is a picture of Ron, Neville, and me in the boy’s dorm. I’m trying on my Quidditch robes in it. The pink nose in Ron’s covers is his rat, Scabbers’. Neville’s toad might appear as well, can’t tell if he’s in the shot or not. He’s invisible sometimes.” 

“Where do I even start with this?” Remus sighed, pouring his tea and sweetening it to his liking. He poured in a little milk and watched it spread through the cup.  “He’s done the reassuring thing again, the one that has Petunia worried.” 

“He’s a good boy,” Lyall shrugged. “Maybe he’s hoping you’ll ask, or part of him is.  It doesn’t surprise me that Albus Dumbledore has been hiding something in that school of his. His defeat of Grindelwald may have done wonders for his reputation, but some families still tell the old tales. That man may have started out a lion, but there’s some serpent in that soul of his or he’d not have won two wars. The question isn’t ‘would he hide something’ it’s ‘would Snape steal from him’.” 

“I don’t know,” Remus said, looking through his cup as if his past interactions with brooding Potions master were playing out on the table beneath it. “I’ve seen what he was capable of in school, and after, but the man saved my life during the war, prolonged the lives of friends with his skills. I doubt if even Dumbledore knows everything that man is capable of.” 

“A man can be capable of many things that he’d never do except in exigency,” Lyall replied. “Harry’s presented a set of facts, but I don’t think we know enough to bring them to anyone, and neither does he. I think that telling him to drop it will have limited benefits and cost dearly.” 

“He won’t come to us again if he doesn’t get a response that takes him seriously,” Remus agreed. “I’ll give it some thought and write back to him. Shall we have a look at this picture then?” 

Lyall reached for the envelope and pulled it out, setting the image between them. Harry looked happy enough, if a bit resigned to his fate. Neville looked like he’d gotten a bit taller since Remus had seen him at the start of the year, though after a moment Remus realized that he might just be standing straighter.  The pink nose on Ron’s bed had shifted, as wizarding pictures did, and now an oddly familiar white head rested on top of a rumpled blanket. Remus felt a flash of sorrow for Peter, who might have enjoyed seeing a rat so similar to the one he’d transformed into. 

There were times when being the last free and true marauder weighed on Remus.  

He brightened his spirits with thoughts of how James must be making a right nuisance of himself in the next life. His only son would rather study than play Quidditch, was only the youngest seeker in a century under protest.  He could never be truly angry at James for having died young, but there was a kind of catharsis in imagining his reactions to his kind and bookish son. 

If from time to time he talked to him, visited the graves just to say, “If you wanted him different, you should have raised him yourself”, that was fine. 

Merlin knew that if all things were as he wished them to be James and Lily would have lived, and would have raised Harry as they’d wanted to.

As they hadn’t, Remus had tea to finish, and letters to write. 

When, peripherally, he noticed the rat in the picture crawling across Ron’s lap, he paid it no further mind. 

* * *

At Hogwarts, several hours later, Harry Potter was sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts and failing miserably at paying attention. 

His mind kept returning to the Quidditch game days before. The rush of flying, the noise from the crowd, the screams as his broom had started to jerk uncontrollably, and Snape’s cold eyes in the moment before Hermione set fire to his robes had been flaring like beacons. He couldn’t stop himself from returning to those memories if he tried, and he had tried. He had work to do, but he’d almost fallen. 

He’d tried, when the broom first began jerking around, to steer towards the ground. The match wasn’t worth his life, but the broom had been forced higher into the air somehow, and by the end of the match he’d been forced to dive at the ground, not knowing how much control he’d have over the broom when trying to level off. The snitch had been there and it had looked like a saving grace. Surely someone would do something, would do more than he’d noticed anyone doing, once the match was over. 

He'd underestimated his speed, and he’d nearly choked on his saving grace, but it could have gone differently. Someone had wanted hurt him, to make him another terrible loss for his aunt, for Remus and Lyall, for Neville even. Harry’s life was not just his own, and it seemed likely that someone at school, that Snape, had tried to take it. 

Professor Quirrell spoke then, forcing Harry back into the classroom and the moment. 

“Mister Potter, give me three differences between a curse and a jinx,” he stuttered.  

Harry replied, getting five points for Gryffindor for his correct answer. Ron bumped a shoulder against his in congratulations, and Harry felt himself relax. If Snape had really been trying to kill him, he’d done it in front of most of the school. The professors had been watching him more since, and his friends hadn’t left his side for more time than it took to shower. Harry was not alone. 

That was even truer after class, when Harry and his friends left the castle and walked down to Hagrid’s hut for tea. 

“There’s the Quidditch champ, Fang” Hagrid announced to the dog at his side with a grin and a laugh. “Just yesterday it feels like, I carried him ter his aun’tn’now look! Flying like he was born on a broomstick and winning for Gryffindor.” 

“If that’s what you call nearly getting hexed off of the broom and chocking on the snitch,” Ron replied, before turning and looking in apology at Harry. “Sorry mate.” 

Harry shrugged, still stung, but said, “What I don’t get his how Snape did it in front of the whole school and didn’t get caught. We all saw it.”

Hermione and Neville nodded to that but Hagrid lumbered to his feet, shaking his head. 

“None of that, now. It’s Professor Snape, and he’d never lay a hand on you. You’re his student,” Hagrid defended. “He’s had better chances if he’s wanted them, and it’s mad to think he’d try it with Dumbledore right there.” 

“Someone did though,” Harry said. “That broom hasn’t acted that way in all the times I’ve flown it, and Madame Hooch checked it after the match. It wasn’t broken or badly enchanted. And Snape-”

Harry faltered. He’d been about to tell Hagrid his concerns, but he’d not heard back from Remus and Lyall yet. He didn’t know what they’d have to say but he wanted to before he went off telling people. 

“Snape’s after what that three-headed dog is guarding,” Neville said, misreading Harry’s hesitation. 

Harry could have groaned but Hagrid replied quickly. 

“How do you know about Fluffy? Been snooping in that corridor?” Hagrid asked sternly. 

“Got lost,” Ron answered, “You named it?”

“Bought ‘im from a Greek chap, bloke with an enchanted pan flute of all things, but you need ter stay away from Fluffy, and forget about- about what he’s guarding. Not tah say as he’s guarding anythin’. “ 

“We saw the trap door, Hagrid,” Hermione pointed out. “We’re not stupid, not even Ron really.” 

“Thanks for that,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. 

“It’s between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel, and None of your concern,” Hagrid insisted loudly, “Now come in for tea, kettles been whistling for days while we stand here talking nonsense.” 

Hagrid stomping into his house makes the floorboards grown and Harry felt terrible about upsetting Hagrid when all the man had done was be proud of him. Harry turned to his friends though and he whispered “Nicholas Flamel”. 

The three of them nodded in reply before going inside for an awkward and tense visit.  

After dinner, they went to the library, and the search began. 

* * *

December came like an afterthought. Ah yes, the calendar seemed to say, time is actually moving while you run about like mad, playing detective and being functionally a student of two schools. Harry rolled his eyes at it, caught himself, and resolved to take a break when he went home for Christmas, as clearly, he needed one. 

Shortly after Hagrid’s Flamel slip, Harry had heard from Remus, point out the circumstantial nature of his evidence against Snape and cautioning him to consider alternative explanations before settling on an answer. He’d also mentioned that they’d be having some serious conversations about the goings-on at Hogwarts this year. 

Still, With Ron joining him for the whole holiday as his parents would be out of town, and Neville joining them on Christmas at Lyall’s and staying till the New year, with plans to spend New Year's Day with Hermione when they dropped Neville back with his grandmother, Harry was looking forward to the holiday. 

Not even Malfoy could change that, and he tried. On the Friday before they were due to leave for the holiday, Malfoy stopped them outside the great hall.  Harry braced himself, for some reason Malfoy had been even more vexing and rude since the troll incident.

“Headed back to the muggles where you belong, Potter?” Malfoy called out. 

“On the train, you seemed to think I belonged with you and yours, Malfoy,” Harry replied with a shrug. “But yeah, I’m off home to my family, same as you.”

“I was being kind,” Malfoy snapped then walked closer, and talked lower, so his friends couldn’t hear. “I was giving you a chance, but you threw it away. Enjoy your time with them, they’ll meet the same end as the rest of your family, Potter.”

“I will enjoy my time with them,” Harry said at normal volume. His vague, bored seeming smile seemed to be confusing Crabbe and Goyle. One of the large boys moved forward but the other held him back, brows scrunched. “It actually was nice of you to take the time.” 

“STOP BEING SO-” Malfoy began, but a Professor McGonagall stopped him with a look as she approached the pair. 

“Five points from Slytherin,” She said, “For attempting to instigate an altercation. Now all of you move along.” 

Harry followed Neville into the hall as Hermione started to tell him about a film that she and her mother were planning to see in London if Hermione wasn’t too tired from the train ride back. Harry gave her his phone number so that she could call and tell him how it was. 

They both paused and looked across the table at each other before bursting out in laughter. 

“Why does that sound so strange here?” Harry asked, calming down. “We study muggle things all the time.” 

“History and math, Science, not films and electric lights and things,” Hermione argued grinning. “Think it’ll be odd going back to it all?” 

“I could have Hedwig fly by a couple of times,” Harry offered, “You could send a letter if it is. Keep a little bit of magic in your life, besides the books.” 

“It’s just a few weeks, right? Then back here for another five months,” Hermione replied. “Send her by for your Christmas presents, but for anything else, I’ll just call.” 

“You guys keep saying that,” Ron interjected. He was sitting next to Hermione, across the table from Neville. “What do you mean, and what’s so funny about it all?” 

Hermione launched into an explanation, as Harry turned to Neville. He was often the quietest of them, but as the holidays drew nearer Neville had gone almost silent outside of class. Harry put a hand over his friend’s briefly. He could guess what Neville would be doing soon after he returned to his grandmother and Harry both envied him and saw how it weighed on his friend. 

Neville hadn’t told him any more about what had happened to his parents, and Harry would never ask, so he did what he could. He put an extra scoop of Treakle tart on his friend’s plate and smiled when Neville shoved him weakly in reproach but ate every bite. 

After dinner, instead of going to the library to look for Flamel again, the four of them stayed down in the common room and watched the fire together. 

“You’ll see what you can find in Mr. Lyall’s books, or what he knows?” Hermione asked. She'd had to concede early on that it was confusing to call both him and Remus both Mr. Lupin. 

“I promise,” Harry said, “I want to know too. Hey Neville, what’s the best sort of magical plant for a wreath?”

“Mistletoe,” Neville answered softly, “for rebirth, I think. Makes people smile too, and wards off dark creatures.  Holly is good too, but prickly. People use them for reasons. We can go see the decorations again before we leave if we get up in time.” 

“I’d like that Neville,” Hermione said.

Ron grumbled but gave Neville a pat on the back when they stood to go to bed sometime later. As they reached the top of their respective staircases, Ron called out across the emptying common room. 

“Don’t study too much; I’ve seen you forget to eat Hermione!” 

“Don’t let him go the whole break without glancing at a book, Harry. He’ll forget except his meals," Hermione teased back. 

“Mum’s going to plan your wedding,” The twins chorused from further up the stairs, where they’d been coming out of their dorm. 

Harry had to fight down laughter at the horror on Ron’s face almost until he fell asleep.

* * *

It was snowing when Ron stepped out into the cold air.  Harry, Neville, Hermione at were his back, going slowly and carefully down the icy stone steps. He’d been pulled from his bed early to walk around and look at the trees with their pixie lights and ancient ornaments. He’d seen their faces as they looked, and that made it worth it, but he was eager to be on his way. 

Harry’d talked a little about his family, even his grandparents who’d been gone for a while, but now he’d get to see everything for himself. 

His dad was waiting eagerly for photos and a full report on Ron’s week or so in the muggle world. He’d Even promised to floo call for a bit on Christmas, after dinner when they were due to get to Lyall Lupin’s house. 

The only downside to the arrangement was Scabbers. He’d been so had been so agitated that McGonagall had transfigured him a larger cage and spelled it nearly unbreakable. He kept trying to run off if Ron let him out. The cage had a small door that Ron could use to clean up after him and feed him without opening the larger hatch on the top. Scabbers tried to push out through that small door but couldn’t budge. Ron didn’t see how he could let him all the way out again, to hold him or play with him, until he calmed down. 

He carried the cage under one arm as they approached the horseless carriages that would take them down to Hogsmeade Station. 

“Oh!” Harry said. “I guess I can show you Padfoot and Prongs when we get to my room, Ron.  My old stuffed toys. I’ve had Padfoot longest, but Prongs was a gift from Remus.” 

Scabbers darted around in the cage, bumping against the small cleaning door, and the top where it opened.

“Calm down you little git, or I’ll drop it and then where’ll we be?” Ron said to the cage. 

“Maybe Lyall will know what to do for him,” Harry said. “Aunt Petunia doesn’t like mice, so he might have to spend a lot of time in my room.” 

“Good job that even Hedwig doesn’t want him then,” Ron groused. 

They rode to the station and boarded the train. It was easy to find a compartment and stow their trunks with fewer students on the train. They napped and read, and studied their way back towards muggle world, only really talking when Harry bought them a round of hot chocolate from the woman with the food cart. 

“Do you figure Snape’ll make a play for whatever it is over the holidays?” Ron asked the group. 

“I’m not sure,” Harry said. “I’m not even sure if it’s him all the time. There were a lot of people at that game guys, and it’s not like it’s weird for Snape to be glaring at me. Maybe he had another reason for having to deal with Fluffy too?” 

“Harry, come one, It’s Snape,” Ron argued. “He’s bad news.” 

“I guess?” Harry said. “It’ll be easier once we work out what it is he’s meant to be trying to steal.” 

“That’s smart,” Hermione said. “Though I can’t get past the muttering. Harry, he was saying a spell of some kind while glaring, and he hates you. Even if he was just cheating and not trying to kill you, he was messing with your broom.” 

“His face when he realized he was on fire,” Neville grinned. Ron laughed aloud. 

“Glad you’re on our side,” Ron said and the other two boys nodded agreement. 

When the train began to slow, coming through London, the three kids bound for muggle homes removed robes and cloaks and pulled on jackets (Harry and Hermione) or thick sweaters (Ron). Neville just made certain that he had his things. 

“Gran’s gonna portkey with me from the platform,” Neville said. As they folded and put away their robes. “St mung...our destination hands them out to people who need them for easier travel, and we’ll floo home once we’re done there.” 

There wasn’t much time for goodbyes at the station, which was all well and good. They’d see and talk to each other soon. Still, Ron saw Harry pull Neville into a hug, and wondered what Harry knew that he didn’t. Hermione gave them a parting nod before striding off towards the barrier to meet her family on the other side. This left Harry and Ron to wave to Neville as he found his grandmother in the station, only to be startled as a voice called out from behind them. 

“Harry, it’s been ages!”

A boy with skin a bit lighter than Harry’s and mousey brown, neat, hair approached them, followed by an older man. 

“Ron, Scabbers, meet Juney, Juniper Howell,” Harry said, and Ron had been around the twins enough to recognize mischief in someone’s eyes. “We’ve been close for years. I’ll explain in the car, but parts are kind of a secret. And This is Lyall, Remus’s father.” 

The crowd that had bumped close around them had started to clear, and Ron noticed some people looking at them, probably noticing them due to Juney’s shout. A couple waved to Harry or called out greetings to Juney. Ron shook Lyall’s hand but noticed Juney going very still as he looked at Scabbers. 

 _That was odd_ , Ron thought,  _who ever heard of a wizard afraid of mice?_

When Juney offered to carry the cage, Ron figured he was wrong about him being afraid, Juney he didn’t seem to want to look away Scabbers either. Ron didn’t get it. Scabbers was just old, and boring when he wasn’t biting people in defense of Ron and his friends. 

On the other side of the barrier, a tall, thin blond woman with blue eyes and shorter, heavier set boy greeted Harry with barely concealed affection and Ron stood back with Juney and Lyall. 

“How long have you had him for? And How’d he lose that bit of his toe?” Juney asked. There was something odd about his voice. Like he was talking but couldn’t breathe properly. 

“He was Percy’s first, my older brother’s, and Percy said he was like that when he got him,” Ron said, happy to have an in with someone who’d known Harry longer. “He’s been mine for a few years now, Percy gave him to me. Kinda useless, but he’s ok when he’s awake and not going mad over nothing.”

Ron looked over to Harry, who was waving him over for introductions.  He shrugged to Juney and walked closer to Harry’s aunt and cousin. 

* * *

 

Remus couldn’t stop staring. That was Peter. It shouldn’t be possible. Peter was long dead. All they’d found was a finger. He was dead, and Sirius-, Merlin, Sirius. It shouldn’t be possible but it was true. In the cage, it was Peter. The spells that made him look like Juney didn’t dull his senses in the slightest and he’d have known any of the Marauders in the midst of a rainstorm and on a moonless night in the darkest part of the Forbidden Forest. Wolf and Man, Boys and Beasts, he knew their scents and the beats of their excited and terrified hearts.  That was Peter Pettigrew, and he’d been a bed away from Harry for over three months. Why had he let Remus and the world think that he was dead, that Sirius had done the unthinkable twice in twenty-four hours? How could he? And if Sirius hadn’t killed him, had Sirius killed those muggles? 

He needed answers but first, he needed to play Juney for long enough to explain the ruse to Ron, then see if he’d actually lost what was left of his mind. He remembered a thought from weeks before. The last free and true Marauder. Time would tell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm 4 days late, but this chapter is up, and the stage is set for a revelatory Christmas. A lot of people have a lot of explaining to do. My goal is to reduce the time it takes me to post these chapters, so if I can manage at least one Snowdrops chapter and one of this story a month I'll be feeling awesome about it. Who knows, I might even find it in me to go back and foreshadow things a bit better. In any case, thanks so much for the Kudos and comments since last chapter, they really are motivating and I look forward to your thoughts on this one.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry felt a dozen conflicting emotions as he walked through Kings Cross Station with his family and Ron. He’d missed his aunt and cousin, and he still missed them a little. The break would be so short, and they’d all be so busy. He felt joy at how easy it was to walk beside them, and how easily Ron had gotten Dudley talking about what it was exactly that muggles did for fun. He was worried; his aunt kept looking at him like he was a puzzle to solve. Most of all at the moment, he felt confused. 

“Is that heavy?” Harry asked, walking a little slower so that he fell in line with “Juney” and Lyall. Remus was holding onto Scabbers’s cage with both hands, his knuckles white. Scabbers had woken up and was alternating between being strangely still and frantically trying to get out of the cage. 

Ignoring Harry’s question, something Harry could recall him having done possibly three times in their entire acquaintance, He ran ahead and spoke to Harry’s aunt. 

“Two animals in Harry’s room might be a bit much, Ma’am,” Remus/Juney said, and Harry felt Ron tense beside him, “I’m good with animals, my Uncle Lyall and I can look after Scabbers this week if that would help.” 

Aunt Petunia stopped and looked at Juney. Even in child form, Remus still apparently had access to whatever telepathic powers grown-ups used with each other. 

She turned to Ron. 

“Lyall and Juney have kept Harry alive for days at a time. Lyall and his son have been something like godparents to him for years,” She explained steadily, ignoring the way the aforementioned men looked to her in surprise. “They can be trusted with your rat if you don’t mind the week away from him. Would it be alright?”

Ron looked uncertain and they stood there, the crowd moving around them for a while before Remus spoke again, saying, “I used to have a rat like that one. I think I’ve got a bigger cage at my uncle’s. Might have something that could calm him down too. We'll be like old friends before you know it.” 

Not entirely reassured, but seeing the encouraging nod Aunt Petunia sent his way, Ron agreed. 

“Alright, just see that he’s taken care of,” Ron said.

“I can promise you that,” Juney said, and Harry wondered if he was imagining the odd edge in his tone. What did Remus want with Ron’s rat?  

Harry watched him for a while but Remus was more unreadable than he should have been, especially given that he was wearing Harry’s sometimes face.

When they arrived at the car, Remus handed Ron the cage so that he could say a quick goodbye. Unburdened, he wrapped his arms around Harry in a quick hug. 

“I’d planned to have dinner with you at your aunt’s, but something’s come up,” he said. “Tell her that I’m sorry. I’ll still come on Christmas, so be ready.” 

“I will,” Harry said. “I wish I could properly see you.” 

“I only get older,” Remus said, and it sounded funny coming from Juney’s mouth. “I only give you more reasons to fuss, but I promise dad and your aunt have been seeing to it that I eat properly. Best be off. Behave yourself, and have some fun.”

Lyall Lupin stepped forward and ruffled Harry’s Hair. 

“Gyrffindor seems to have been good to you,” the older man said. “We’ll talk more at Christmas, lad. Don’t know what’s gotten into that son of mine, but I’ll look after him.” 

Harry nodded, somewhat reassured.  

Juney, Lyall, and Scabbers got into the car first and side-along apparated away from inside the back seat. This left plenty of room for Harry, Hedwig, and Dudley. Ron sat in the passenger's seat in front so that he’d be able to see London as they drove through and out, towards Surrey and Little Whinging.

Even with Hedwig’s cage between them, Harry felt good about being back with Dudley. They’d grown up both more and less apart depending on the year and circumstance, but there were some things that they’d always have in common. 

“Grandmum Rose would like Ron,” Dudley told Harry quietly. “He’s nice like Remus.” 

“Better,” Harry replied. “He’s nice like Ron. You’ll see. She  _would_  love him to bits though. They’d make tea and look after people together.” 

“While you found more people who needed someone looking after them?” Aunt Petunia teased. “Ron, forgive my boys. They know better than to talk about people as though they aren’t present.” 

“It’s ok,” Ron said tentatively. “I thought Remus was going to meet us at the station, though. Why’d Juney come instead? Not that it wasn’t nice to meet him.” 

Harry paused for a moment, before deciding Lyall and Remus probably would have said something if it wasn’t ok for Ron to know. Besides, it wasn’t like Remus could be Juney when they were staying with him for the second part of the holiday. 

“Juney isn’t-” Harry started, but he couldn’t honestly say that Juney wasn’t real. “Juney is a story, Ron. Remus had me and my grandparents make him up as a way for me to get to be safe and normal when I visited the wizarding world before I turned eleven. Remus used magic to make me look like him, and no one knew that I was hiding inside.  Remus used spells to look and sound like Juney so that it wouldn’t be so odd that his ‘cousin’ disappeared when I started school. He’ll still take good care of Scabbers, but it’s a secret, so he couldn’t just turn back and explain in the station.” 

“That’s clever,” Ron said after a minute or two. “So if we’d met before school started, you’d have been Juney? Were you Juney when you met Neville?” 

“Remus was. It was my first time just being me in the magical world,” Harry answered. It was surprising how long ago it felt. “Meeting Neville helped me a lot. I hope he’s not mad about the secret.” 

“He’ll probably be a bit startled,” Ron said, “but you’d only just met. Did he talk to him much? He never mentions you two having another friend.” 

“No,” Harry said. “I tried to avoid people our age as Juney, so I wouldn’t have to lie. Remus does about the same. Also helps him not to use words I wouldn’t know. “

They talked about it a little more before Harry asked his aunt about the flowerbeds and the plants in his room. The closer they got to Privet Drive, the more he realized how much he’d missed it all.  Soon he’d be able to call his friends from Cokeworth and hear their voices. He’d be able to get in-person help with some of the things from his muggle education that Hermione hadn’t explained well.  He’d be able to cook with his cousin and for his friends and family. 

His aunt had been right before, coming home was the easy part.

* * *

Petunia could barely stop herself from staring at Harry. He seemed thinner somehow, maybe taller. He hadn’t lost the boyish roundness at the edges of his face entirely but perhaps it was starting to fade. Was she being silly? Harry had only been gone for three months, but even that was weeks longer than she’d gone without seeing him since he’d been dropped on her doorstep, that long-ago Halloween night. 

Though resentful and afraid at the thought of raising Lily’s child, she’d only lasted about two and a half months before finding her way back to him then. How strange was it that now three months would be the minimum amount of time he’d be gone? Even then, Easter holidays were not required. It could be six months before he next came home. How did wizards raise their children like this?  At least with Dudley, there’d been Parents weekend and a nine-day half-term break in October. She’d see Dudley in February, at Easter, and in May.  

Her years of distantly co-parenting Harry had done a lot to prepare her for Dudley’s time at Smelting's, but not even having been through this with her sister had readied her for this. 

She comforted herself with the knowledge that Harry seemed to have made good friends. 

“My dad wants me to take pictures of things, Ma’am,” Ron told her as they pulled up to the house. “He’s super interested in the way muggles live, but he won’t have me being a bother or getting underfoot. Let me know if I need to stop, and you’ll never see another flash from me.” 

Charmed by Ron’s apparent discomfort but clear obedience to his parents, Petunia nodded and parked the car. 

“Get your things put away, then come down,” Petunia instructed. “Harry, if you could handle the rice and vegetables for dinner after that, you should have time to make cookies as well, or you boys could take a walk around the neighborhood.”

“I want to bake!” Harry replied quickly. “Ron, would you mind? Maybe we could make some extras and send them to your brothers.” 

“Never seen anyone use a muggle kitchen before,” Ron said gamely. “You really help cook things?” 

Dudley helped them get their things upstairs, then Petunia sat down and rested while Harry started a rice cooker, put vegetables on the stove and used a mixer to start on meringue cookies for dessert. 

She’d finished the rest of the meal before leaving, but even so, the evening went by in a rush of introductions, phone calls, and the general business of family life. Vernon came home from work. Dudley did the dishes while Harry and Ron dried them and put them away. No fewer than five neighborhood boys and girls came by to verify that their friends were indeed back and free to play the next day.

It was late in the evening when Petunia finally managed to pull Harry aside. Ron had gone up to bed, but she’d stopped Harry when he stood to follow. 

“Harry,” Petunia said carefully, looking down into the still sometimes unsettling green eyes that had always, in one form or another, been a part of her life. “I suspect that more has happened in these months than you’ve told me.” 

Harry paled a little and looked down at his feet, seeming to shrink in a way that he hadn’t done in a long time. 

“I’m not angry,” Petunia said. “You know that even if I was, I wouldn’t be angry forever. I like to think that we’re good at that, you and I. At forgiveness and growing. Mum and Da tried hard to teach us that.” 

“Wouldn’t have wanted to worry them,” Harry admitted. “I’m alright. Told Remus and Lyle a little, and they helped me think about it some. Don’t know what good it would do to bring up the rest.”

“It would let me know what you’re dealing with,” Petunia said. “I can’t really do anything if you have a cold, but I can make you more comfortable and find medicine that can help. It’s my job to let you know how I can help you, but I can’t if I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

Harry shook his head and Petunia fought down a rush of frustration. 

“It’s not still wrong though,” Harry argued, “or not in a way that’s hurting anyone right now. It's... Something happened on just one night, and I was scared, but my friends helped me, and Malfoy did too, and that was weird, but no one got hurt.” 

“Then tell me what it was, Harry,” Petunia insisted. “I got a phone call when Dudley bruised his arm playing cricket, but I don’t think your headmaster thinks enough of me to keep me informed. As a person who cares for you, what scares you is important to me.”

Harry looked at her, took a deep breath, and in a rush he spilled out a story about Snape, and glaring eyes,  and a retreat that had taken Lily’s child from the relative safety of friends and a feast to a corridor with an impossibly large troll in it. 

When he stopped, Petunia forced herself to take a deep breath. She could have lost him. He’d faced a twelve-foot mountain troll on Halloween, while a thousand miles away she’d remembered her sister and her parents’ generosity of spirit, the sharpness of their grief. She'd nearly lost him and no one had said a word.  How close would it have to get before they’d write to her, before they’d come in person even? Why was she suddenly so sure that this could not be the last time Lily's son would be faced with such danger? 

“Alright, Aunt Pet?” Harry asked, and Petunia was drawn forcibly back into the moment. 

“I’m glad that you’re safe, Harry,” Petunia said stiffly, “Please, if you must miss a meal, go back to your common room. It seems unsafe to wander.” 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry replied. “I won’t wander if I can help it. I’ll stay safe.” 

There was a part of her that wanted to shriek and rage.  That wasn’t what she’d asked of him. That was the best that he could offer, and she was still meant to send him to Remus, who would put him on a train back to that dreadful school. Part of her could have happily thrown things in that moment, but Harry’s eyes, her mother’s and sister’s eyes, were on her, and she didn’t think that she’d survive pain, or fear, or disappointment in those eyes.  

Everyone was safe. No one would die of shame or shock that night. Petunia sent her nephew to bed. 

If, in the morning, a pair of ugly old ceramic candleholders that had been Marge’s Christmas gift to them was no longer present on a nearby end table, no one remarked upon it. 

* * *

The next few days were some of the happiest Harry had had in months. It was fun to show Ron the world where he’d grown up. He learned loads about the wizarding world as Ron compared spells that he’d seen or heard of to muggle inventions. He, Dudley, and Ron had played with most of the other kids as though they’d never been away. His Cokeworth friends had been full of stories too long or complicated for letters when he’d called, and they’d pleaded for a visit. Harry had told them he’d see them in the summer and converted storied about Hogwarts into fun fictions of muggle boarding school for their amusement. 

On Christmas day, the three boys woke early, and Harry and Dudley started the water for tea. Harry, excited and wanting to do something while he waited, tried using a pancake mix and some eggnog to make French toast, the smell of which drew his aunt and uncle down for breakfast. 

“Mate, if mum gets a hold of you, we’ll have to kidnap you back,” Ron joked as he finished his. “That was good, and you just tossed it together like nothing!” 

“I’ve been helping in the kitchen since I was small,” Harry reminded him. “And I knew that if I went too far off, Aunt Petunia could probably make it taste alright.” 

“That she could,” Uncle Vernon agreed heartily, and Aunt Petunia smiled softly seeming to relax fully for the first time since the evening when Harry had told her about the troll. 

When they opened presents, Ron was happy to find that his Weasley jumper and assorted sweets from his brothers and sister had come by owl. Harry was touched that he got a jumper as well,  along with books from his aunt, Remus, and Lyall, and puzzles and things from other friends. Strangest of all, Harry received an anonymous gift. 

It was sitting at the back of the tree, and no one really noticed it until the rest of the presents had been handed out. 

There was a note tucked under the ribbon and Harry read it aloud. 

“Your father left this cloak in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.” 

Harry moved to open the parcel but stopped when they heard a knock on the door. Harry put it down and went with his Aunt to see who’d arrived. 

It was Remus, but a different looking Remus than Harry could recall having ever seen.  He seemed openly stressed. His hair was as untidy as Harry’s usually was and there was a beard beginning to grow on in thin patches on his strangely unshaven face. His clothes, always a bit worn at the edges, seemed more so. At his side hung a heavy looking black bag, and his expression was all too grave for the holiday that had led to his coming. 

His eyes fell to Harry, and he took a step back, nearly stepping out of the door again. Distantly, Harry remembered his aunt doing something similar, but the memory was just a flash. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, tensing and knowing from some unconsciously remembered lesson to allow Remus to approach him first. 

“Come and sit down,” His aunt directed. Remus listened to her and followed her into the kitchen where she poured him a cup of the still warm tea. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Remus said, belatedly answering the question, “or rather, nothing is wrong which can be easily fixed. There’s so much that you should know, you and Ron, and I’d have told you in my own time. I’ve said as much in my letters, lion-heart. I need you to know.  Circumstances have forced my hand a bit, but now I can show you. I hope you’ll forgive me for... for a great many things. My only defense is that we were all very young, and you are younger even than that. I wanted bigger shoulders for you before I burdened them with more than you already hold.” 

“You’ll explain it to me as well,” Aunt Petunia commanded. “I’d prefer it if you’d explain it to me first.” 

“I plan to show them what they need to see, Petunia,” Remus replied, “I’ll use a magical object, and it would be dangerous for you, not having magic. I promise to write to you with an explanation soon. I’d never hurt Harry, and you know that my father and I will always protect him when we’re able. I need you to trust me, and when we’re done, I’ll need you to let me take Harry and Ron as planned. I can bring him back if you need that, but he’ll be missed terribly if plans change.” 

Harry watched his aunt and Remus argue silently. His desperation meeting her concern in an almost visible clash in the air between them. 

“I’ll talk to him after you show him whatever it is,” Aunt Petunia relented. “If he doesn’t want to go no force, m-magical or not, will make him. Do understand that Remus Lupin? I will find a way to keep you from this house or to send him somewhere out of your reach if I have to.” 

“I’d never take him from you,” Remus said. “I don’t imagine I could without his consent or with any hope of keeping him. I wouldn’t do that to either of you.” 

Aunt Petunia nodded, and went back to the living room. Harry heard her sending Ron to them as Remus pulled out an old stone bowl with odd shapes cared into the rim. 

“Mr. Lupin,” Ron said tentatively from the doorway. 

“Come in, Ron,” Remus said. “I think we’ll be up to first names quite soon. I have a story to tell you both, though what concerns you may be at first unclear.” 

Remus put the tip of his wand to his temple and pulled out something thin and silvery, something almost liquid, before putting it into the bowl. He repeated this several times before explaining. 

“This is a pensieve. It is a tool for reviewing and sharing memories. It’s time, Harry, that you saw some of mine. Ron, you need to understand some things as well, so let’s all go in, and I’ll tell you the story of four boys. They called themselves by names, a couple of which will seem very familiar; Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.”

Remus bowed his head over the bowl and Harry led Ron in doing the same then, as the silvery liquid swirled before them, they fell. When they stood again, it seemed that they had left Privet Drive far behind. 

* * *

 

They were standing in a room with a cage inside of it. Inside the cage was a bed, and on that bed, a young brunette boy was lying still as a woman who looked like him tended fresh wounds in the early morning light. 

Remus turned away from his mother and looked at the blood stains and gouges in the floor, before speaking. 

“Harry, I’ve always told you that I was sick,” he began. “I have a disease that was given to me when I was a very young boy, for reasons that aren’t important to this story. The disease keeps me away for several days a month,  on full moon nights, and the days after. On those nights, I transform, against my will and in great pain, into a terrible and violent creature.” 

“You’re a werewolf,” Ron blurted, and he moved back towards Harry only to be left behind as Harry moved closer, walking up to Remus’s side. 

“It hurts you this badly every time?” Harry asked, staring at the bloodied wet cloth that Hope Lupin used to wipe her son’s face. 

“Sometimes less than others,” Remus said, looking down at him. “Some more. You’ve always had a good sense of when it was more. Ron is afraid now because werewolves are not well thought of in our world. Classified as dark creatures. It’s alright if you’re scared too.” 

“I’m not sure,” Harry said. “Don’t think so, but maybe I just know you?” 

Remus found himself laughing at that, softly, with a touch of irony. 

“Maybe you do,” he said, bringing a hand up to squeeze Harry’s shoulder before pushing him towards Ron. Harry took his friend’s hand and Remus continued. He turned to look back to the doorway of the room and gestured for the boys to do the same. Albus Dumbledore was standing there with Lyall Lupin.

“For a time I didn’t think I’d be able to go to Hogwarts,” Remus told them, “but Albus Dumbledore saw me. He refused to leave me alone and uneducated, with no one but my parents to protect and comfort me.  He devised a way for me to go and to hide what I was. A haunted house, with a rather vicious willow tree guarding the passage inside from the Hogwarts grounds.” 

The images shifted to show the house and the tree. 

“So I went, and in the first few days after I started at Hogwarts, I made three friends that would shape my life even up until the present day.” 

Now they stood in a classroom lit by four wands casting Lumos. Remus paused and let Harry step forward and look. They’d been fifteen in this memory. 

Harry walked and stood in front of James, who was taller and slightly darker skinned than Harry, with brown eyes instead of green and of course, with no lightning bolt scar. 

“My dad,” Harry said, with a kind of awe in his voice.

“James,” Remus agreed, looking for the first time since learning the truth on the man who would suspect him of being a traitor in about five years after this memory, who’d be dead and gone around a year after that. 

“James was the only heir to a powerful wizarding name, born to older parents who doted on him. He was a good friend and he got better with time and maturity.”

“Who are they?” Ron asked, looking to the other two boys. Harry waited for the answer as well. 

“Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew,” Remus answered. 

Ron took a sharp breath. 

“Let me tell it, Ron,” Remus said, “There’s been a lot of misinformation going around. Sirius was born to a dark family, a cruel one that prized dark magic and blood purity. Against all odds, Sirius arrived at Hogwarts and, as I did, found a new start, and a chance to be more than anyone would have thought possible. He broke away from his brother, from his parents, and most of his cousins and refused to go dark. More than that, he befriended James Potter, the son of a family that had fought for the light since before such things were recorded.”

Remus walked to stand in front of a pudgy young man with mussed hair. 

“I met Peter not long into the school year; before I became friends with James and Sirius. He was utterly ordinary. He’d seemed so small, so unsettled after being sorted, and I was a bit unsettled as well,” Remus told them. “Our friendship began in fear, but I thought that it had continued well. I thought that we were brothers by the end.”

Remus stared at the boy as one of the others spoke and ultimately, he shook his head. He needed to time this right. He could brood on it later.

“Three years before this moment, my friends found out what I was and we began working on a project to help me when I transformed,” he continued. “No human could safely stand beside me as I shifted, but animals could. They became animagi; wizards who could transform into animals at will. Your father and Sirius dragged Peter through the process and on this night, they showed me their success.” 

Remus gestured to the three boys who at once began to shift in front of his younger self’s admiring gaze. A stag, a great black dog, and a small rat. 

When Ron gasped again, Remus thought it was for a different reason entirely. He set it aside in favor of watching Harry. 

“Padfoot,” Harry said startled, “Prongs. You never told me, they’re on my bed upstairs but-” 

“We called ourselves the Marauders. They helped me as no one had before. They changed themselves and spent years striving to manage it.” Remus forged onward, and there were flashes of their adventures. Many of them featured Sirius, with his great barking laugh, with his kind gestures after full moons. “We mapped the grounds and took stupid risks, and once nearly killed another student, but I was stronger and in less pain than I'd been since I was bitten. I had friends, real, caring friends for the first time in my life.” 

“Beyond the Hogwarts grounds, the war was beginning, and it crept into the school and our lives increasingly with every passing day,” Remus continued, and the memories were a series of brief bewildering stops behind his younger self as headlines and death notices, and the wails of the newly bereaved came rushing around them like a dark and terrible river. “We graduated, and we fought. James and Lily, Sirius and I, even Peter I suppose. We played our roles as best we could.” 

 “I will not show you how I fought or what I did, but it was different and far from your parents, Harry, and from yours as well Ron. I spent a lot of time away. I attended James and Lily’s wedding, briefly, and I was allowed at first to visit them when they went into hiding. I held you once or twice Harry, though I was away when announced that you were coming. When they made Sirius your godfather, he laughed himself silly at the thought of raising James’s child, certain that karma alone would make it a trial. In the midst of all the horrors and darkness of war, the moments I had with my friends shone like stars.” 

They appeared in Remus’s small apartment, not the one he stayed in now, but the one he’d lived ten years before. Remus watched the boys, entranced as they were in the story, Ron looked confused and there were times when it seemed he wanted to interrupt but he thought better of it. Harry’s expression was more closed than Remus had ever seen it.”

“We knew there was a traitor on our side of the war,” Remus said as his younger self slept in his bed in the corner. “I didn’t think much of it when James and Lily’s letters stopped. I assumed they’d gone deeper into hiding. We knew someone wasn’t safe to be around but we didn’t know who. Deeper into hiding meant a charm that hid the secret of their location in a living soul. I thought they’d hid the secret with Sirius when I didn’t hear from him either. It seemed clear that he’d done the smart thing and gone into hiding himself.” 

They were coming to parts that Remus had only recently learned, and it was difficult to keep going but Harry needed to know, and Remus had long since bound a portion of his strength to Harry’s needs. He’d find a way, for the boy he’d helped to raise. 

 “What I didn’t know was that Sirius had tried to be clever about it. He’d had them make Peter the keeper of their secret, because who would suspect that?” he laughed bitterly, before taking a deep breath and pressing on. “I knew them all, cared for them all, and I never even thought of it for a moment. He made the switch and told no one. When I woke on the first of November, I learned of your parents’ death. Then I learned that Sirius had apparently killed Peter and thirteen muggles besides, leaving only a finger behind... I thought that he was the traitor, that all of my friends were dead or dark.” 

They watched as Remus read the papers, and fell to the ground sobbing. 

“Sirius was taken to Azkaban, the terrible wizarding prison, without a trial,” Remus continued. “There were funerals for Lily, James, and Peter, and I thought that the story was done. Then at the train station, I saw Ron’s rat. I knew him.”  

The memory changed and Remus could see Ron shaking his head in horror and abject disbelief as they watched Remus wave a wand to set up a large cage in a bedroom at his father’s house.  It used half of the room and was tall enough that Remus had no trouble standing inside of it. Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway to the room again, but this time Lyall Lupin was standing by the window, spelling it sealed. Kingsley Shacklebolt, an auror that Remus had known since their time in The Order, stood beside Dumbledore in his uniform robes, and the two men cast spells to seal and reinforce the cage. 

“Come out now, Remus. Set the rat carrier down, and we’ll see if there’s more to this rat than meets the eye,” Shacklebolt said confidently. Remus did as he was told, and when the cage door closed behind him and was sealed, Albus opened the latch on the carrier by magic. 

After apparent weeks of escape attempts, ‘Scabbers’ was content to remain inside. Dumbledore met Remus’s gaze briefly before banishing the cage from around the rat. 

Shaklebolt did not hesitate. He cast the spell to undo an animagus transformation, and Remus turned his head, watching the children’s faces as the familiar mouse became a pudgy, balding man sniveling on the floor, older and missing part of a finger, but still immediately recognizable. He was a warped caricature of the slow, but kind-hearted Gryffindor boy that Remus, Harry, and Ron had seen just minutes before.  

“It came out under veritaserum,” Remus said over the whining and crying of the pathetic creature on the floor. “He’d betrayed your parents Harry, and us all. He’d killed a city street full of muggles and faked his death, subjecting Sirius to years in Azkaban. Your parents had thought me the traitor because so many other werewolves had been swayed to the dark with promises of freedom and opportunity. I believed Sirius was a traitor because I was sick with grief, and his entire family save one other person had been dark, because I’d have never thought Peter cruel or clever enough to do anything like what he did.  I could show you Peter’s confession, but what you need to know is this.  Ron, after he faked his death, he found a family that had fought in the war. He chose one that would surely be among the first to hear of any danger and one well protected from the followers the dark lord that he’d just unintentionally sent to his death.   He went to your family, and has hidden there until just a week ago.” 

“He-He slept in my bed,” Ron said, going a bit pale and green. “He was in my house all that time. What’ll I tell mum?” 

Harry was staring at the man on the floor. 

Remus pulled them from the memory, and they were standing in the kitchen again, though now Petunia stood in the doorway watching over them. 

“We’re ok,” Harry said, and Ron, still pale nodded agreement. 

“My friend has been in the hospital the last few days, since the traitor was taken to jail and sealed properly into a cell,” Remus told them. “He’s been approved to leave so long as he takes certain potions to help get his strength back. Harry, he’ll want to know you. I’m sorry, this is all so fast, but know that if you don’t feel comfortable meeting him yet, I’ll respect that. If you’d rather stay here, I’ll understand as well. He’s my friend, but you come first, for both of us. I’m sorry that I waited so long to tell you all of this.” 

“It’s alright,” Harry said, though he sat down and thoughts seemed to be rushing through his mind like a dozen snitches too fast to for him to catch.  

“Come with me to your room Harry,” Petunia said, and Harry stood as if enchanted and followed her out of the kitchen. Remus and Ron sat and stared at each other for a while. 

“Sirius Black really didn’t do it?” Ron asked. 

Amused in spite of himself, and tired beyond words, Remus nodded.

“And he might be coming to your father’s house, and staying with Harry, and you, and your father, and Neville, and me?” 

Remus nodded again, adding, “If no one objects, and if he can handle the company.” 

“Woah,” Ron said. “Fred and George are going to prank me to death when they hear about this. Won't ever forgive me for them missing this much trouble.” 

Remus laughed aloud and Ron, pleased, confused and still deeply disturbed about the truth of his hand-me-down pet, smiled and wondered if Harry was really as alright as he’d claimed; if any of them would ever be totally fine again. 

* * *

 

Harry had believed himself conflicted back in King’s Cross a week before. As he walked to his bedroom with his aunt, he could have laughed at how silly he’d been. This was proper conflict. This was seeing his father, and knowing that his stuffed toys represented people who’d really cared for him. This was Padfoot, his favorite toy, and that Remus had let him keep it even knowing that he thought the real Padfoot had ruined everything. This was seeing Remus when Remus was his age and bleeding because someone had made him into a monster. It was having seen Remus’s mother.  

None of it made sense, not yet. Had Remus said Sirius was his godfather? What did that mean? Did Harry want to meet him? Did that really matter when someone who’d been hurting so long maybe needed to meet him to help him be ok again? 

“Harry,” his aunt said, and Harry realized that he was sitting on his bed. How had he gotten there without realizing? “Are you still alright with going to the Lupin’s for Christmas, and staying?” 

Harry nodded, and realizing that it was true he added, “I want to see Lyall, and Remus was telling us about a friend of my dad’s. He went to jail for something he didn’t do, and he’s out now. He’s been in the hospital this week. I think I should meet him, with Lyall and Remus there to make sure it’s safe. If he’s really good, he shouldn’t have to be punished forever.” 

Aunt Petunia looked visibly shaken but, after a minute or two, she took a deep breath.  

“You will write to me after you meet him, or better, have Remus find a phone so that you can call me,” she said. “I’ll be telling him the same. If you change your mind, you have him bring you home, even if you have to bring Neville and Ron with you. If you feel unsafe-”

“I’ll floo to the Leaky Cauldron and get a room,” Harry said, realizing suddenly that that was something he knew how to do, and could do on his own if needed. “Then maybe I could borrow an owl, or find a phone in one of the shops next door to call you to come and get me. Lyall’d bring me home if I asked though, or Remus, right?” 

Aunt Petunia didn’t answer, she just looked at him as though she was trying to work out how best to hide him from the world. 

“You can stay here,” she said, sitting down on the bed beside him, haltingly she reached for one of his hands. “Whatever he’s told you that you should do, whoever he’s said you should meet, it doesn’t change your place here. Nothing ever could.” 

“Sirius, the friend? He’s been lost a really long time, sounds like. Someone has to help him get home too,” Harry argued. 

“You are still a child, Harry,” Aunt Petunia replied. “It doesn’t have to be you.” 

“I want to go with Remus,” Harry said. “I want things to be good, and maybe they can’t be if I’m too scared to try, even if it’s all still mixed up and big and weird. Please, can I still go?” 

“You can go,” Aunt Petunia replied. “But Harry, what you said you could do if you didn’t feel safe? You can do the same at school alright? I won’t be angry. We’ll work it out. Just please come home when you need to.” 

“I’ll try,” Harry said. His aunt looked as though she could cry, and Harry wondered what he’d said, but she helped him gather his things, and went with him downstairs to prepare to leave with Remus. He tucked the still wrapped gift and the anonymous note into his trunk almost as an afterthought. 

Remus took Ron and his things first, and Harry sat with Dudley while waiting for his turn. Oblivious to recent drama, Dudley talked about an upcoming golf tournament at his school. Harry smiled as he listened, glad for a moment of normalcy to break up the continuing madness of the day. 

In London, behind the façade of a closed department store, a dark-haired man was sitting up in bed. He was staring at two photographs that he’d gotten from a friend. In one, a young boy napped on a blanket in what looked like a rather large garden or park as his faithful plush toy, his Padfoot, stood guard. In the other, the boy, now older, was playing a board game with their mutual friend but often turned toward the camera delighted to be holding his own. His green eyes sparkled. The cut on the baby’s face had healed to a smooth scar. 

Sirius Black stared at the pictures and thought of another, likely sealed away with the rest of the things from his apartment in his vault, a baby picture that had been recent when he’d tucked it away. He’d been held for ten years in Hell, but Remus had come and set him free. Ten years had turned the baby with the still bleeding cut into a near replica of his late best friend when they’d met. 

What had those ten years made of them, him and his little godson? He didn’t know. He could barely make sense of Remus’s story about where the boy had been and why. He didn’t even know if Harry would want to meet him. He stared at the photos, at the easy way that Remus in the picture teased and laughed with Harry, who clearly adored him. Had these chosen pictures been some sort of message? That Padfoot was in the distant past for Harry, that Remus was all he needed now? It didn’t seem like Remus’s style, and he’d been wrong in suspecting his friend before. All he could do was watch, delight in the freedom to remember his lost friend without feeding his jailers more of himself, and wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas holidays stretch onward, guys I meant to get through New Years this chapter.... so That's where we're headed next time, significant reunions and decisions to be made as a new year approaches. I did some quick internet research to determine how often petunia would see Dudley during the school year, so If I got something wrong re British boarding schools, sorry. Thanks again for any kudos/comments since last time, I'll be doing a check and replying to comments I haven't replied to in the next day or so.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to hearing from you.


	9. Chapter 9

Remus Lupin was nervous as he walked carefully through the ward at Saint Mungo’s. Sirius’s room was at the back, far from prying eyes. This had the added effect of giving anyone coming to see him too much time to think along the way.  

Remus had spoken with Neville’s grandmother by floo before going to fetch Harry and Ron. Lyall would be picking the boy up close to dinnertime, to give Remus a few hours to get Sirius settled into Remus’s bedroom.  Remus would be sleeping in Harry’s, allowing the boys to stay on conjured cots in the living room where they’d have more space. The arrangement would also allow them to forbid the boys from going upstairs, but Remus hoped that they wouldn’t need to do that. Sirius had been calm and lucid every time Remus had seen him. If he could stay that way, it would make his re-entry into society much easier. 

Coming to the door, Remus took a deep breath to steady himself before he knocked. 

“Moony?” Sirius called and Remus opened the door with a grin. Sirius had been sitting on the floor in a corner, a pillow from the bed at his back. Remus could see the pictures of Harry he’d given him sticking out of the pocket in his shirt as he stood. 

“Happy Christmas, Padfoot,” Remus said. “You’re less pale than yesterday.”

“And you’re as bad a liar as you ever were,” Sirius replied. “Did you get him? Have you told him what’s happened?” 

“Yes, I got him. Harry’s working with his friend and my father to do some baking, and likely changing the dinner menu for the better,” Remus said and then grinned at the confusion on his friend’s face. “You’ll see. His years with the Evanses were well spent. And yes, Pads, he knows everything I could bring myself to show them.” 

Sirius stilled for a moment before shaking his head and then looking at Remus, waiting. 

“If you still think you’re up to it, he wants to meet you. It’s all still new for him, but he’s got a good heart, and he’s trying to take it all in stride.” 

“By baking,” Sirius said. “James never met a food he couldn’t burn. Don’t think he ever tried cooking until the summer before our seventh year, and even then, it was with alcohol and Evans clouding his mind.” 

“Harry isn’t James,” Remus said lightly. “You’ll see that as well. I take it you want to come and stay with us? It won’t be too much?” 

“Don’t coddle me. I have to see him,” Sirius said. “James would skin and stuff me for waiting this long. How long did it take  _you_ to check in on him, days?” 

Remus felt a slight chill as he replied, “Longer, by rather a lot actually. It wasn’t a good time. We’ll talk later. Let’s get you dressed for the day and we’ll go. Any questions before we leave?”

“How’d he end up with his aunt? Lily hated her sister. Couldn’t you or your father…?” Sirius asked, still trying to make sense of the brief summary of Harry’s life that he’d been told. 

“You know he wouldn’t have been safe with me, and my father and I had no claim to him. Harry loves his aunt, and he’s forgiven her the bit of a rough start they had. It all worked out for the best.” 

Sirius narrowed his eyes at that but didn’t make further comments.

Remus pulled out and unshrunk a new black robe and things from Madam Malkin’s then left Sirius to wash and dress while he began the paperwork to check him out. In the process, he got reports and lists of potions his friend would need from the healers. One of them walked back to the room with Remus to give Sirius a last nutrient potion and some chocolate before giving the all clear, and passing along a letter. 

“Andromeda Tonks dropped this off,” The fellow said, handing the note to Sirius. “Cousin of yours, right? We checked it for hexes, as is policy, and it’s clean.” 

Sirius thanked him and took the potion, pocketing the letter for later. 

“Andy always was my favorite cousin. Bet you see her daughter here weekly,” Sirius joked. 

“She’s a fair healer in her own right, Mrs. Tonks and her daughter just finished school earlier this year, so I can’t say that we do. Right firecracker she was growing up, to hear Poppy tell it,” the healer replied, not seeming to notice the way his words had shocked his soon-to-be-former patient.  

Remus wondered how he’d survive the day. Already he felt a little exhausted and there was still more to do, still a major introduction to facilitate. 

When the healer left the room, Sirius broke off a piece of the chocolate bar he’d been given and passed it to Remus. 

“You look rough,” Sirius said. “If it wasn’t Christmas and if Harry wasn’t waiting, I’d offer to stay longer and have someone look at you.” 

Remus shook his head and ate the chocolate. It was Christmas, and he had his friend back. That had to count for something. He’d make sure that this was a good day, for Sirius and Harry’s sake as much as for his own. 

* * *

Sirius expected to be stopped as they walked towards the front of the ward. He’d been given a cloak with a hood for warmth and privacy, but surely someone would see who he was and send him back. He’d dreamed of being re-captured a dozen times in the days since he’d left his cell and been taken for healing and questioning. 

Each time, it seemed, he woke to greater freedom. Andromeda had written to him once before, as had Dumbledore, and even Hagrid. His bike was apparently safe and he could come to get it and have tea at the castle when he wished. 

It was a dizzying prospect, the idea of going to the school, of flying his motorbike again.

He’d only seen the sky once since Azkaban and that had been the night he left. They’d walked him out beneath his star, he’d thought dimly then, wondering if someone had decided to have him kissed by the dementors and have done with it. They hadn’t. He was free now and healthier than he’d been in a decade. His godson wanted to know him; another dizzying thing. 

Sirius felt a deep sense of relief when they reached the antechamber with the fireplace. No one had said more than a brief wish for his continued good health or a reminder to take his potions. 

Remus stopped him when he reached for the floo powder, sending his own head through first. 

Good old Moony, making sure things were done properly. There was a flash of bitterness in him that Remus hadn’t pushed for him to get a trial, but Remus had found Peter. That absolved him of quite a bit. Remus had freed him in the end. 

“It’s called ‘the homestead’, Sirius. I’ll go first,” Remus said. “Just... be careful. If it’s too much we’ll all understand, and we’ve got days with him, and letters, and years after that.” 

“I’ll be sure to sob loudly if I’m tired or need a nappy change, Mum,” Sirius teased. 

When Remus frowned in response, he straightened. “I just want to meet him, Remus. If it it’s too much, I’ll ask where I'm sleeping and get myself there to rest a bit. You know I'd never hurt him.” 

“I know you’d never mean to,” Remus said, and Sirius felt envious for an instant before sense came to him. Harry was going to have to be a priority. The last time he’d put anything else first, he’d ended up in Azkaban and lost ten years. 

Sirius watched and waited, breathing deeply as Remus used the floo powder, said the words, and was whisked away. When he’d given his friend a moment to get clear of the fireplace, Sirius tossed in a pinch of his own and followed him. He closed his eyes against the chaos of the space between, opening them just in time to step rather than tumble out of the correct fireplace. 

 Out of habit, he brushed himself off before looking up. He felt the cool sweep of a tidying charm and turned to thank Remus, only to be struck by the sight of the boy at Remus’s side. 

“James,” he breathed. The years had rolled back and for a moment he was eleven and his best friend was stunningly and hearteningly alive. 

Then the eyes registered, and the scar, and the fading smile on his godson’s face.

“Harry James Potter,” he said. “I’d know that face anywhere, even if your father hadn’t spent two summers writing terrible poetry about another pair of eyes that shade.” 

Harry stood stock-still and Sirius was so focused on him that he jumped when the chair next to the boy darted forward on its own and moved behind him, causing him to sit down reflexively. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “Don’t get up though. ‘Lo Mr. Black.”

“Sirius, or Padfoot, please,” Sirius corrected, smiling a bit as Harry nodded and took a step closer. “I’m not sick, just not up to fighting weight yet.”

He hadn’t said it as a challenge but something familiar flashed across Harry’s face. Merlin, even his expressions were James’s, though the way his eyes moved over him, that assessing gaze was pure Lily.  Grief hit Sirius like a wave, and he was glad to be sitting down. 

“We’ve got tea and soda bread fresh from the oven,” Harry offered. “I made it like grandmum, with sultanas, dates, and cranberries, and loads of seeds and nuts in. Could get you a wedge of that and some tea.” 

“You’re my godson, not a house elf,” Sirius replied, “Come and talk to me. Where’s your friend?” 

Harry sat down on the wooden bench seat beside Sirius’s chair, turning his face towards the window as he did. 

“He’s walking with Lyall,” Harry said. “Didn’t want to crowd you. Remus said that too, that you’re my godfather. What does that mean?” 

“It means that your parents and I were good friends and that they wanted me to help raise you, or to do it myself if something happened to them,” Sirius replied. 

The questions that crossed Harry’s face went unspoken. Sirius was uncertain that he’d have had anything like satisfying answers to any of them.

Remus walked over to the kitchen area and returned with a wedge of the bread and a steaming cup of tea.

“Let’s try something lighter for now, shall we?” Remus said with a kind of enforced nonchalance. “Harry, what is your favorite thing about school so far? And tell him about your sorting.”

* * *

Harry talked about his friends, Neville, Ron, and Hermione, about knowing what house they’d wanted and expected to be in, and his own conversation with the hat. He laughed at Remus’s surprise and Sirius’s strange horror over the hat’s having considered Slytherin and Hufflepuff for him. 

Then Ron and Lyall came back and Harry, who’d noticed that the horror in Sirius’s face hadn’t actually diminished all that much, begged off to go help with dinner and allow Sirius to have a snack. If he focused on cooking, he could almost ignore the way Remus seemed to be soothing Sirius behind him. 

_“You’re my godson, not a house elf,”_  he’d said, and it hurt but Sirius just didn’t know him yet. How was he to know that Harry liked cooking and sharing with people?  Calling him James was something harder to let go of. He’d seen the look on Sirius’s face when he’d said it. And then what he’d said about what being a godfather meant…all he had of his parents were the things that they’d given him and the things that they’d tried to do. What did it mean that they’d apparently tried to give him Sirius?

“You ok, Harry?” Ron asked, and Harry nodded before helping Ron stir the batter for a cake. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched across the wide, largely open pace as Sirius and Remus talked. Sirius was eating his bread but seemed confused more than pleased. Did Sirius not like it? Did Sirius not like him? If he did, now he was free, and Harry’s mum and dad had wanted him to raise Harry. They had chosen him, and not Harry’s grandmum with her boundless love, patience, and caring, and not his Grand-da with his cleverness and gentle spirit, not even Aunt Pet, who’d grown so brave over the years and who wanted to make sure he’d always have a place to go where he could fit. They’d chosen Sirius, and thought Remus was a traitor. Harry was still thrown by that. They’d thought that Remus could be bad. Maybe they could have seen something in Sirius that wasn’t really there, too. Harry resolved to talk to him again. He couldn’t know until he had seen more himself. Sirius had just spent ten years in prison. He wasn’t well. He needed time, maybe and good food, and tea. And rest, he added as Remus led the thin, pale man upstairs. 

Harry missed his grandparents fiercely. They’d done this before, helped make things right after fights and betrayals and time away. Had Remus learned enough from them to do the same, had Harry? 

A hand on his shoulder brought Harry back to the moment. He turned and saw Lyall. Lyall drew him into a hug so perfect it made Harry’s eyes burn a little. Then  he mussed his hair, and asked a question about the oven. Harry answered it and grinned to Ron, who patted his shoulder but didn’t ask how he was feeling despite clearly wanting to. He fell back into the rhythm of kitchen help. His grandparents were with him. His parents were with him.  Soon, Lyall would get Neville and he’d have two of his best friends at his sides. He could write to the third. For now, the people he cared for needed a happy Christmas with the best dessert they could manage. That was something Harry could absolutely arrange.

* * *

They’d just pulled the cake from the oven when Lyall returned with Neville.

Neville looked as tired as Harry felt, as he stepped inside and walked over to Harry and Ron in the kitchen. 

“Long day?” Harry asked, offering a small smile.

Neville made a go at returning it but it fell away as he muttered, “I went to see  _them_. In St. Mungo's. They never know me.” 

Harry moved to ask, but Ron was right there, and Harry didn’t know how much Ron knew, or how much Neville wanted him to know.

“I have a godfather,” Harry blurted out. “I don’t know if he still wants to know me. Don’t know anything, except I want to help him.” 

“Gran read about it in the Prophet. He’s really here? Is he…? Dementors are terrible, Gran said.”

“He seemed ok,” Ron said. “just like he’d had a bad cold or something. Haven’t talked to him, but Remus did, and he’s alright.” 

“They’ll be coming down soon,” Lyall said and all three boys jumped. They’d only been together for a moment and already they’d started to feel as though they were talking in some corridor at Hogwarts. Ron’s face went red at having talked about Remus in front of the man’s father, but Lyall just pulled out his wand and sent plates of hot food to the table to prepare for dinner. 

“You lot made all that? Neville asked. “No house elves?” 

Harry shook his head and felt gratified as Neville’s eyes went wide. 

“It looks great!” Neville said. “Gran doesn’t do much for holidays. Haven’t seen this much food at once since we left school.”

“I could say the same,” a low voice from the stairs had Harry’s head turning so quickly it almost hurt. “Though Molly was no slouch during the war, so I suspect your friend saw about this much last night.” 

Ron gave a tentative nod as Sirius walked down the rest of the stairs. Harry found himself staring again and, when Sirius looked back, he turned towards Remus. Ever his guide in odd situations, Remus usually had a smile or a hint for him but Remus was just as uncertain. 

“Grandmum was like that,” Harry said, channeling a steadier guide. “I loved helping her. Makes it home. Everyone ready?” 

Lyall waved his wand, lighting the fire in the fireplace and grinning. “Looks like we are. Let’s begin. Eat and be welcome here, among friends and family. We all know what a gift that is.”

There was a murmur of agreement and then everyone sat down, with the children taking one side of the table and the adults the other. After everyone had begun eating, Ron spoke, startling Harry who still felt a little tense and out of sorts. 

“You knew my mum from the war?” Ron asked Sirius. 

Sirius nodded, “and your dad, though we weren’t close. Knew yours as well, Longbottom. You take after your mother. Wanted to give you the world, she did. I’m sorry.” 

Harry watched Neville pale before he nodded and Ron asked for stories. Remus and Lyall joined in, and the rest of the meal passed pleasantly.

After dinner, Sirius helped Remus and Lyall move things around, and set three transfigured cots in a peninsula around the fireplace. Lyall pulled an old, heavy looking grate from a closet and set it up, effectively putting a locked fence up against anyone flooing in. 

Full and happy they settled in to exchange gifts. Harry and Neville traded cuttings from their gardens. Ron gave Harry a recipe of his mum’s and in turn received a promise to attempt it before they went back to school. Harry gave Lyall and Remus an album for the pictures he’d sent and a couple of books from a shop near his aunt’s house and received a book on magical needlework and some enchanted knitting and crochet needles. 

Harry laughed at that. 

“Could never quite get the hang of it the muggle way,” Harry explained when his friends seemed confused. 

“I’ll make you something,” he said to Sirius, whose face had gone flat and expressionless. Sirius shrugged and gave an unconvincing smile. Harry mirrored it. He wanted to help, but it was hard. He didn’t know Sirius at all really, and the enormity of the horror he’d been through was too much to get his head around. 

Ron yawned, loud and fake, into the awkward silence and Harry could have hugged him for it. 

Remus walked over and clasped his shoulder, “We should call your aunt before you got to sleep. I’ll get my coat and we’ll just tweak your skin and eyes. No need to go full out for the payphone in the village, but cover your scar with your hat.” 

Harry nodded, glad that Remus had remembered. He’d forgotten, and Aunt Pet was probably up to pacing already.  

Sirius was watching them, and Harry tried to ignore as he went to the closet near the stairs for a coat and a big enough hat. By the time he was dressed to go outside, the thin, dark man had made his way up the stairs again. Harry was left with the sense that he’d broken something somehow, and he wasn’t at all sure how to go about fixing it. 

Like something from a dream, he remembered someone saying “you can’t fix people”. 

For once, the voice at the edge of that memory didn’t comfort him in the slightest. 

* * *

Later that night, when the house was dark and quiet, Sirius Black tired of pretending to sleep and sat up in his borrowed bed. Without a thought, he put his feet over the side, flinching a little as part of him expected cold stone but met with cool wood instead. 

_I’m free_ , he reminded himself, but he opened the door to the bedroom and then shifted into the great black dog that had preserved his mind. He wanted to feel his freedom. He wanted to see his godson. He wanted to take Harry and run with him until all he could feel was the living weight of what remained to him of his best friends and nothing but the sky hemmed him in. One of the three was simple and within reach, so he padded down the short hallway and began to make his way down the stairs. 

When he reached the bottom and looked up, he backed up a step. He hadn’t been the only one wandering about. 

Green eyes looked at him as if he were a ghost, and Sirius wondered for a moment if he and his godson were doomed to see in each other always things- people- that were dead or had never lived. He pushed the thought aside as the boy walked to the front door and opened it, looking back expectantly. Taking the hint, he followed the boy out under the vast open sky and he froze. 

A gentle hand soothed him until he could breathe again. Then Harry walked a few paces forward and sat down on the grass. Sirius followed and waited for all of the questions Harry hadn’t felt comfortable asking in front of Remus to spill out. He waited for some sudden demand or movement or request. James had never been a quiet child and even Lily had had a need for action that beat alongside her heart. 

He was startled when Harry merely resumed petting him, now looking down at him as if searching out his soul. 

Sirius didn’t consciously try to shift back into human form. He wouldn’t have noticed that he had if Harry hadn’t jumped back a little in surprise. 

“Who are you?” Sirius asked suddenly. He felt terrible when Harry flinched and seem to shrink a little. A brown boy with spots of green in green pajamas on the grass and dirt he was like a mirage, like a dream his mind had formed.  Dreams were safe in their confusion. Nothing he said to a dream could really hurt anything. Sirius couldn’t sleep, but he was so tired. Harry looked so much like them. He wanted to know his godson. “I don’t understand. I’m sorry. I should know you. You’re their son; his son, and Peter ruined everything. It’s been ten years and I don’t understand.” 

“I’m Harry,” Harry replied, face scrunching a little in thought. “I was born in a war, and my parents gave me a name that’s a smaller version of one that means a leader of armies, so I would be brave, but not alone. I never was, you know, alone? Not really”

Harry spoke slowly and carefully and Sirius listened, powerless to do anything else. 

“When they died, someone gave me to my aunt, but it wasn’t right. She couldn’t be good to me, so she took me to her mum, to Grandmum and Grand-da.  I got them for a long time, and then I had my aunt too, and Dudley, and Remus a while after that. He helped me get to know about magic. He helped Aunt Petunia be ok with me going to school. She’s so scared but she’s brave for me, brave like she couldn’t be for mum.” Harry continued. 

Sirius stood suddenly, furious in ways that he couldn’t quite process. He’d heard Lily talk about her sister. He'd heard what James said about her. That loathsome woman had gotten two chances to raise his godson when Sirius had gotten worse than none. And how long was “a while” exactly. How long had Remus left him to grow up with aging muggles and an aunt who couldn’t even hide her fear from a child she was meant to be raising?   Harry wasn’t done though, after a long time he started talking again, still trying to answer Sirius’s impulsive and impossible question. 

“Remus says I’m the best of Mum and Dad, and every good thing they had to give the world. Aunt Petunia says I will be the best of them, if I work at it. I want to be good and do right for the people who never left me alone. I want to try. That’s me.” Harry concluded. The anger drained out of Sirius and he sat again. Harry tentatively reached out and pet his back as if he were still a great black dog. “I’m sorry people hurt you. I’m sorry I forgot, except the name. I won’t forget again. I want to help fix it if I can.”

There. Just there, that was James Potter’s son. That was the specky git who’d had everything he ever needed or wanted, and he was, again and always, reaching out to him to pull him further into a light that he’d been meandering towards since birth. If this was Prongs’s son, Sirius knew exactly what to do. 

“It’s not your job,” Sirius replied. “I’ll make it right. Get us a house, maybe a get job, and make everything like it should be.”

Harry froze at that, and Sirius hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d been mistaking ‘calm’ for ‘still’ until Harry stopped even the gentle swaying of his shoulders. 

“I-” Harry started, but Sirius cut him off. 

“It’ll take some time and probably Dumbledore has his reasons for letting you go to her that’ll need to be sorted out but I can do that, and Remus may know already,” Sirius continued. 

The boy had gotten even more still, excited at the prospect of getting everything put to rights no doubt. 

“Sirius, I-” Harry froze and opened his mouth again, only to jump to his feet when someone said his name. 

“Harry,” Remus said from the doorway. “It’s been a very long day. I think you’d best go to bed. There’ll be days more time to talk before you back to school, and even then, your owl flies fast.” 

Sirius watched Harry nod then, with a wave to Sirius and one of many the inscrutable looks that the boy seemed to wear perpetually, he darted inside to bed. Remus closed the door behind him and sat down in Harry’s place. 

Just as well. Harry had made him think of something and it wasn’t urgent but he wanted to know. 

“How long was it before you found Harry after they died?” Sirius asked. “You’ve said longer than a few days, and Harry said a while, but that implies that he remembers meeting you.”  

“Padfoot, why does it matter?” Remus countered. “He told you, he wasn’t alone. He was in good hands with the Evanses and Petunia was... aloof, not abusive, and barely that. She was warming to him against her will.”

“How long, Moony?” Sirius asked again. 

“Nearly six years,” Remus replied. “He was seven years old when Albus told me where to find him. It was the kindest thing he’s ever done for me, and you know how much I owe that man.” 

Sirius turned into the dog that had saved his mind once before. The dog was as much a grim as a proper hound for all that it preceded the deaths of so many; for all that first person who’d seen him transform had placed his trust in him and died. Under the light of the waning moon and beneath a sky so wide he still felt as though he were going to fall in; he ran.  

They had all abandoned his godson. They’d all betrayed the love and trust of James and Lily Potter. They’d had their freedom and the choice of it and they’d given him away or left him alone for half a decade only to come crawling back as though they deserved him. Sirius, who would have kept him and raised him and loved him without fear or reservation had been locked away and the unfairness threatened to undo all the work that he’d done by spending most of the ten years in Azkaban as a dog. 

He sprinted back at that thought. He would not be the next in line to leave Harry. He stopped and let Remus let him into the house again when he reached it, then he curled and slept by the fire at the foot of Harry’s bed. 

At last, Sirius fell asleep, exhausted, never noticing the worried look of his best friend as he settled in to a nearby chair to keep watch, or Harry’s eyes, squeezed too tightly closed for proper sleep as he tried to reckon with the notion that what Sirius needed to be well and what his parents might have wanted could be altogether different than what Harry could stand to give. 

* * *

 

Early the next morning, Harry woke early, having barely really slept.  He looked around at the sleeping forms of his friends, Remus and Sirius and fought against the worry that threatened to consume him again. Then, with a start, he remembered the present that had belonged to his father. 

Quietly, he leaned over and opened his trunk, removing the package, and opening it at last. It was, indeed, a cloak, large and silvery, with just enough weight to it that it wouldn’t billow much or blow about with a breeze. Harry held back a gasp as he realized. Someone had given him the cloak from the stories about his father. This was an invisibility cloak. He held it to his face. Something of his father’s, that he’d really held and touched was in his hands. He'd been told to ‘use it well’.  

Feeling a tickle at his side, Harry looked up and saw that Remus was awake, and watching. The older man smiled fondly, if tiredly, and Harry couldn’t help smiling back. Remus glanced at the still sleeping form of Harry’s godfather, and Harry, unwilling suddenly to share the moment with anyone else, stowed the cloak in his truck. 

Then he slipped out of bed and went to the bookshelf. He pulled a book, “A Comprehensive Treatise on Important Wizards of the 20th Century” and began looking through it for any sign of Nicholas Flamel. There was something about him being an alchemist, whatever that was, and an inventor. The book stated that there was more about him in a previous volume, as some of his chief work had been done in earlier centuries, and that gave Harry a moment of honest confusion. Exactly how long-lived were wizards? Then it occurred to him that the book could be old, so the lack of a death date could be explained by that, and a person could be born and live most of their life on once century only for a new one to start up near the middle or end of their life, right? Resolving to learn more about alchemy, he set the book aside to ask if he could borrow it, and pulled an encyclopedia volume from the shelf. He had a paper to write for his muggle studies, and it would be easier to do before school started.    Remus followed him to the shelf before going back to his own chair, having pulled out a worn looking old favorite of his. Neville woke next, waking Sirius when he tripped on the way to the window with a book of his own, a new herbology tome he’d gotten from his grandfather.  

Sirius cut a wedge from the previous day’s soda bread and sat down beside Harry on the bed, frowning a bit and looking at Remus with feelings that Harry forbid himself from trying to work out. They read, ate, and studied until Lyall came down and Ron woke up, sleepily asking about breakfast. 

At lunch, they went into the village, and since they planned to make a day of it, Harry was transformed into Juney. 

“Who does that make me then,” Sirius had asked mildly. “I’ll need to be able to take him places as well. Perhaps his father?”

“No,” Harry’d said, startling everyone in the room. Then Harry blushed and apologized. “Juney’s father is a muggle. You'd have to come up with all sorts of reasons why he’s here now when he’s never come before, and where’s my mum, and it’d be a lot to remember.” 

The points had been good ones, as was the fact that Harry Potter’s friends could hardly be seen with Juney but without Harry. Still, it was just the muggle village near Lyall’s home, so Sirius went as a dog, and the rest of the group just made a point of being calm and unremarkable. 

when the dog kept growling if Remus drew to near Harry, Remus knew why and Harry was too tired from the day before to properly question it. 

They used the change from buying lunch to call Hermione on the phone and update her on everything that happened, with Lyall standing watch and sending Remus and Sirius into a shop to give them some privacy. 

The days passed, and the tension between Remus, Sirius and Harry seemed to ebb and flow like an ocean. 

There were good moments. Harry and Sirius went for a run around the boundaries of Lyall’s property after getting back from the village, with Sirius telling a story about chasing prongs through the forest in their animagus forms. Sometimes Sirius forgot to be cross with Remus and the two laughed over the antics of the children or the things they pulled Lyall into, but then Sirius would make an implication, and Harry would find a book, or a friend, or a recipe to pull himself away. It wasn’t that hard to do. He was fairly well surrounded by all three, 

It was all so mind-boggling that Harry felt relief on the morning that they were due to board the train back to school. Sirius, still wary of crowds, stopped him at the fireplace after Remus, Lyall and the other two boys had made their way through to the Leaky Cauldron for breakfast and a cab to Kings Cross. 

“Write to me,” Sirius said, kindly, “I don’t know that I'll be here much longer, but your owl is a smart one. She’ll find me, and I’ll be sending letters as well. Lots of lost time to make up for.” 

Harry nodded. 

“I’ll find a place for us by summer, Harry. Somewhere you can fly and practice quidditch. You’ll see,” He said and Harry could no more tell him then that he didn’t want to leave his aunt than he could have killed him in cold blood. 

“There’s no need to hurry,” Harry hedged instead. “You only just got free. I should go.” 

Harry all but leaped into the fire once it turned green, and a moment later he was careening towards London and craving the much less personal stress that would meet him upon returning to school. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Christmas break. This chapter was hard to write, and I hope I struck a decent balance with Sirius and gave him a more fully realized starting point characterwise than he got in the preceding chapter. Next chapter brings us back to Hogwarts and back to our four favorite Gryffindors, now in possession of an invisibility cloak, shenanigans are highly probable ;) I want to do a couple of snowdrops stories soon too. Life kinda got away from me this past month, but we're like... two to three chapters from being roughly a quarter of the way through this story, I can't promise you speed but more is always coming. Let me know what you think!


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